Concept Album Extravaganza
by Preciousheart93
Summary: Exactly what it says in the tin. A story featuring several characters from well-known concept albums, such as The Wall, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, The Rise And Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, American Idiot, and Mylo Xyloto. Intended as a crossover.
1. Introduction and Author's Note

Hello, all readers who have happened upon this story!

What you have just clicked on is probably my most ambitious writing project ever. My plan was to write a story using several characters from well known concept albums. After working with such characters in my three other fanfics- Outside the Wall, about Pink Floyd's The Wall; Counting Out Time, about Genesis's The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway; and Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, about David Bowie's album of the same name- I felt I could pull off writing about all three of them in the same story, and even include more characters from different albums. Most of the story is based on my interpretations of the albums. Since I used so many characters, there's something for everyone here, in different forms of music. The characters I used were:

Floyd Pinkerton (aka Pink Floyd) and his wife (Audrey Pinkerton) from The Wall by Pink Floyd

Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders Froma Mars (Weird, Gilly, and Henry) from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars by David Bowie

Rael from The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway by Genesis

Mylo and Xyloto from Mylo Xyloto by Coldplay

Jesus of Suburbia, St. Jimmy, and Whatshername from American Idiot by Green Day

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band also makes a cameo appearance.

And now for the copyright- All characters that I mentioned above are not mine. They belong respectively to Roger Waters, David Bowie, Peter Gabriel, the members of Coldplay, and the members of Green Day. All other characters are my own invention. All lyrics appearing in this work are by Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Genesis, Coldplay, Green Day, and The Beatles. I don't claim to own anything regarding these albums and their stories besides my lyrical interpretations.

If this sounds interesting so far, by all means, keep reading. Whether the plot worked or not is up to the reader.

Please forgive me for the unoriginal title. I honestly couldn't think of anything better.

It is rated M for language, sexual situations, mild violence, and drug use.


	2. The Space Invader

Chapter One: _The Space Invader_

Too late now, the impact was to come at any moment. The problem had to be faced and the decision had to be made. Should he put on the brakes and slow down the speed of collision? Or would the friction merely create more heat to incinerate the craft? Something had to be done, and in the end he decided to go full throttle, hoping that the safety shields surrounding the craft wouldn't be singed off when entering the atmosphere.

Down, down, down the craft fell, and he felt a plummeting sensation in his stomach. This was it- to live or die. Would he make it? There was more of a chance of survival if the craft landed in an ocean of some sort, but at this speed there was no way to see through the window. He closed his eyes and tightened his hand on the controls. If he was to die, at least he wanted to die looking brave.

CRASH! The craft collided with soil and skidded forward, propelled by its momentum, slamming through a few trees before finally halting. The force threw him violently against the control panel. He had executed an ungraceful landing- more like a crash, with all this fire- but a landing all the same. At last, he had come to Earth. At last.

His last thought before a black wave pulled him under was that he was the first- and last- of his kind to make contact with another planet.

"Oh my God."

Those were the first words spoken upon sight of the landing. Indeed, it was all there was to say. She stood at the window, her mouth rounded into an O-shape of shock, her eyes wide. Though the site of the landing was far from her house, it was still on her property, and had been clearly visible through the trees. She'd thought it was just a comet until it had grown, larger and larger and more and more defined until finally revealing itself as a spaceship. And yet it was not the kind of spaceship humans used, but something far more different… far more alien.

She turned, knowing her husband was right behind her with their daughter. "Floyd, you're not going to believe me, but there's a spaceship out there, and it's crashed on our land!"

"A spaceship?" His forehead creased in familiar lines of distress. "Eva, stay back." Floyd crossed the floor to stand at his wife's side, and soon enough his eyes, too, widened. The lights of the fire were blazing from a mile away.

"Do you think anyone was on it?" he asked.

"Well, of course. Someone needed to be flying the ship." She looked into her husband's brown eyes, seeing a reflection of herself there. "We need to go help them. They're on our land, after all."

"But- what if we don't get there in time?" Floyd turned back. "And what about Eva?"

"If we run we might make it," she murmured. "And Eva will be safe here."

They hurriedly tucked their daughter into bed and took off running through the night.

Smoke billowed up from the craft's crash site. By the time Floyd and his wife arrived, the fire had burnt itself out, leaving nothing but ashes where trees should be and the stench of burning metal. The closer they got, the more disturbed she felt. This wasn't a human spaceship at all. Nothing terrestrial had ever been built that big.

"Look," Floyd murmured, pointing. "The door is open." Indeed, the spot for a door was replaced by a large gash. On the inside, a voice could be heard softly moaning.

She grabbed at his arm. "Someone's in there. We have to help them!" She rushed towards the spaceship, thoughts of danger fleeing her mind. He entered more cautiously, but no less intrigued.

Darkness completely swallowed up the interior of the spaceship, but she was able to pinpoint the pilot's location by listening for his breathing. Every now and then a short moan would escape, reinforcing her ideas on his position. She came forward and her foot hit something soft sprawled across the floor. She reached out and touched sticky flesh. Her fingers came away wet and smelling of blood.

"Floyd." She didn't have to turn to know he was there. Without a word, she and her husband picked up the pilot's body, which was surprisingly light, and carried it out to the crisp night air. Laying the pilot down on the grass, moonlight struck his face, and Floyd and his wife gathered around to observe his features.

The pilot was a male, as far as they could tell, but really there was no real way to tell. He or she wore a slightly torn skintight white body suit, looking to be made of latex. The body it enclosed was slender and bony enough to be feminine, but flat enough to be masculine. His face was severe and sharp, with high cheekbones and a strongly pointed nose. He reminded Floyd of a predatory bird. Moonlight gleamed from glitter that surrounded one eye in a lightning bolt pattern. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was labored. Blood poured from a wound in his side.

Her face was a mask of horror. "We've got to get him to a hospital." He silently nodded. They began to lift the pilot again, but as they did the man's eyelids stirred. Floyd stopped moving, as did his wife, and when the pilot blinked open his eyes the couple was frozen with surprise. The pilot's eyes were pale in the moonlight, possibly blue, and transfixing with one pupil being larger than the other. His thin lips twisted, swallowed, moved. "Who… are… you?"

"I'm Floyd," introduced Floyd, "and this is my wife, Audrey."

The pilot reached up to touch Floyd's hand. "I'm… Ziggy." Thin fingers brushed the palm of Floyd's hand before sliding off and falling back at his side.

"You've been in a crash," Audrey said, taking stock of the situation. "Lie still. We're going to get you to a hospital. Can you show me where it hurts?"

Floyd shuddered suddenly as a fleeting memory passed through his brain. Instead of obeying Audrey, Ziggy shook his head.

"Don't get help. I'm going to be just fine…"

"But you're injured!" Audrey protested.

"I'll be alright." Ziggy pierced Audrey with his unusual eyes. "Trust me."

Slowly, her face turned from unsettled to confused to calm. Then she lifted up his body in her arms in one fluid motion. Floyd stared before rising up too, grasping her hands.

"Should we trust him?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Audrey answered. "If he gets worse we can always call a doctor."

They departed as swiftly as they'd come, and Ziggy grew limp in Audrey's arms, succumbing to sleep.

They laid him out on the sofa in the front room, after spreading out towels for his blood. Audrey went to check on Eva, and Floyd encountered the first oddity about their uninvited visitor. The wound in his side was not pouring out blood as had been suspected at first, but instead emitted a strange white liquid. Yet it smelled exactly like blood. And Ziggy seemed unaffected by the wound- in fact, he didn't show any pain or any trouble breathing like he had when he was first found. He slept calmly while his wound gaped.

Audrey came back and Floyd informed her of these strange occurrences. After they talked for a bit, Audrey happened to gaze back over at Ziggy. She gave a little start. "Floyd… look at that…"

Floyd looked, and started as well. Ziggy's wound was no longer bleeding; in fact it was barely even there anymore! What once had been a wound was now merely a thin line, a scar dividing his skin. The lovers stared at one another, conveying shock in each other's faces. Then Audrey offered to stay downstairs with Ziggy if Floyd went to bed.

When morning broke, Floyd found himself alone in bed. Terror seized him, and he flew downstairs to find Audrey asleep in a chair next to the sofa. His heartbeat calmed. Floyd wanted to observe Ziggy further, see if his wound had progressed any more in healing, but the remembrance that Eva was still in bed stopped him. He returned to the upstairs and helped his daughter dress, and then took her down for breakfast.

Audrey jerked upwards, coming to, as the coffee machine turned on. She smiled absently at Floyd and then looked over at her patient. Ziggy was sleeping soundly, his breathing deep and his face relaxed. The injury on his side was no more. Audrey blinked, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her.

"Who's that?" Eva piped up, tottering towards her mother.

"That's our new visitor," Audrey murmured, lifting the child into her arms. "His name is Ziggy."

Floyd fell into place by Audrey's side and together the family of three stood watching over Ziggy, waiting for something to happen. Eventually the man's eyes blinked open, still looking just as bewitching as they had the night before. In the light, Floyd could now see that his eyes were indeed blue. His right eye was painted with a red lightning bolt, outlined in glitter. His hair was dark black and fell to his shoulders.

"Hello," Ziggy said, surprising everyone. He yawned and stretched, hauling himself into a sitting position. "Where am I?" His odd eyes swung from face to face, checking out the appearances of his hosts.

There were three of them now- a little girl had been added to the woman and man he'd met last night. Their faces were blurs in Ziggy's memory, but now he could see each feature clearly. The male human looked taller than he was, and more muscular, with wide, staring brown eyes and a combed mop of brown hair to match. He was just as wiry as Ziggy, only looking a bit stronger. The female human had a long face and soft reddish-orange hair tied back in a ponytail. Her clothing was dull, and her eyes were brown like her husband's. The little girl had a combination of her mother and father's red and brown hair, and shared their eye color. She was plump and smiling towards Ziggy, her eyes gleaming eagerly.

"You're in Somerset," Audrey said quietly. "The United Kingdom… Great Britain?"

"Earth?" Ziggy asked, hardly daring to believe it. The couple glanced quickly at one another.

"Yes, Earth," Audrey said finally.

A rush of happiness overwhelmed Ziggy. "Yes!" He grinned and pulled himself forward. "I made it! Yes!"

Audrey and Floyd eyed each other again. They were both confused. Audrey flashed back in her mind to the moment she'd spotted the spaceship. It had certainly not looked terrestrial. But… there was no such thing as aliens.

Ziggy, grinning from ear to ear, reached out towards the Pinkertons and shocked them by placing his hands on Audrey's cheek and Floyd's cheek, touching their faces as if to make sure they were real. "My God… at long last, I finally get to see what you humans look like." He pulled away and sank back into his seat with an air of satisfaction. Floyd took a deep breath, pushed back his confusion, and aimed a question at the visitor.

"Where are you from, Ziggy?"

He replied without hesitation. "I'm from Mars."

Shock passed across Floyd and Audrey's faces.

Ziggy, staring at the humans, suddenly remembered that Earth had never been visited by strangers from other planets before. It led a lonely life in orbit around the sun, desperately putting out signals every day that could be received from a far radius. Ziggy in his spacecraft has picked up the signals every day of every week of every month of every year he had been lost in space, so it was hard to believe the truth that he was the only interplanetary visitor Earth had ever received. He'd grown so accustomed to the chatter of the green and blue planet that he'd naturally assumed they could hear him, too.

Floyd and Audrey were, for the most part, unsure of whether to believe Ziggy or not. They left him on the sofa and sat down around the table to discuss this new development in low voices.

"He's crazy," was Floyd's diagnosis. "He's a normal astronaut who hurt his head in the crash. He only thinks he's from Mars."

"But the ship… it didn't look like something humans would build," Audrey whispered. "And he's so light, and he looks so different from us. And you can't forget the way his injury healed so quickly, Floyd."

"But Mars hasn't been inhabited for billions of years, if it was ever inhabited at all!"

"Well, we've never visited the planet ourselves. Something could have been hiding there all this time." Audrey glanced back to the sofa. _Or someone…_ A giggle from the sofa made her take notice of what was going on.

Ziggy had gestured Eva onto the couch and now was holding out his hands, telling her to pick one. Eva pointed to the left hand, and Ziggy opened it to reveal a coin. He closed his hand before she could take it and passed them over each other. "Now which hand is it in?" Eva pointed to the right one, which Ziggy opened to reveal nothing. He then unfolded his left hand, showing that there was still nothing. "Where did the coin go?" As Eva looked around herself for its whereabouts, Ziggy reached out and plucked the coin from behind her ear. She giggled with delight as he handed it over to her and suggested she try the same trick.

"What's your name, little one?" he asked, smiling at her.

"M'name's Eva Pinkerton," she answered, smiling back and dropping the coin on the couch.

"Are those your parents?" Ziggy asked, indicating Floyd and Audrey.

"Yes," Eva said carelessly. "Mum and Dad."

Ziggy watched her thoughtfully before looking up again at Audrey and Floyd, who in turn were watching him.

"I don't want to be a burden to your household, sir. If you want me to leave now I can. I'm sorry about the crash."

"It's all right," Floyd said mechanically. "We'll let you stay here. It's no problem."

Ziggy dipped his head. "Thank you, sir."

"You can call me Floyd," Floyd suggested.

"Thank you, Floyd." Ziggy scooted over on the sofa to allow Eva some room. Floyd felt cold inside. This space visitor had landed in their backyard, claimed to be from Mars, and won the trust of his daughter with a simple magic trick. Who was he and what was he doing here? And why did he decide to land on Earth?


	3. If I Show You My Dark Side

Chapter Two: _If I Show You My Dark Side_

Throughout the day, as Audrey taught Eva her lessons, the girl couldn't seem to focus on anything but Ziggy. While Audrey tried to give Eva a math test, she fidgeted and stared over at the visitor on the sofa, sighing unhappily. Finally Audrey gave up and let her out of school early, giving her a coloring pad. Eva raced straight to Ziggy and climbed back up on the couch, asking her mother for some colored pencils.

When Audrey handed the requested colored pencils over, she noticed that Eva removed the red and black ones. She was going to draw Ziggy, apparently. Audrey sat at the table and wondered why Eva was so obsessed with this man after only meeting him once. Was it some kind of alien charm? Why would Ziggy feel the need to charm Eva?

Audrey left the questions unasked, because Ziggy wasn't doing much asking either. He sat still on the sofa, modeling for Eva, and gazed off into the distance. After the initial questions of where he was and who his hosts were, Ziggy seemed content to remain in silence for the rest of the day. His unwillingness to talk unsettled Audrey. It uncomfortably reminded her of a time when there had been too much silence in the household.

Floyd spent the day doing work in and around the house. By lunchtime he was hungry and his mind still had not come up with any answers to his questions. Audrey made sandwiches and lemonade, and then asked Ziggy if he wanted to eat lunch with them. Floyd's hand tightened around his glass. Ziggy replied that he would love to, and soon the Pinkertons were sitting around the table eating with Ziggy at the head. Over lunch, Audrey tried to catch Floyd's eye.

"What have you been doing all day? I've barely seen you at all."

"I was outside," Floyd said nonchalantly, stealing glances at Ziggy over his food.

"What were you doing?"

Floyd felt the guest's stare on him. "Oh, nothing really." He longed to pour everything on his mind out to Audrey- but with Ziggy there it was a bit of a problem. For the first time in a long time, Floyd felt too exposed. Audrey saw this, and it worried her. She tried to get him to speak more, but Eva interrupted at that moment. "Look what I drew, Mummy!"

The portrait of Ziggy was characteristically scribbly and out of proportion, but Audrey could see what Eva had intended. "It's very good, love!" Eva beamed and showed it to Floyd, who forced a smile and repeated Audrey's praise. Ziggy then took up the drawing. "Why, it's a perfect likeness of me! What a wonderful little artist you are." Floyd fought his scowl as Ziggy patted Eva on the head.

"So, Ziggy… can you tell us some more about yourself?" Audrey asked, unable to take the silence much longer.

He shrugged. "Anything I could tell you would be impossible for you humans to comprehend. I mean… it's not as if you wouldn't understand, but you wouldn't want to believe what I'm saying."

Audrey was taken aback. "You mean about Mars?"

"Yes, that. You don't _really _believe I'm a visitor from space, do you now?"

"So it was a joke?" Floyd stated hopefully.

Ziggy shook his head. These humans were a bit hard to deal with- they weren't reacting in the predictable way at all. It was hard to tell if they believed him or not.

"It was not a joke, and I am from Mars. But I haven't lived there for… oh, for years and years."

"What was it like there?" Audrey asked, but the possible alien said nothing and went back to eating his lunch.

By nightfall, Floyd and Ziggy went out after dinner to examine the wreckage of the spacecraft and determine if there was anything still salvageable. They walked towards the site in silence, staring up at the night sky. Floyd was burning within. He hadn't been repressed in his emotions for a very long time, and was finding it a struggle not to blurt out to Ziggy that he didn't trust him and didn't want him here. Suddenly the silence was broken as Ziggy gave a cry and rushed forward.

"What is it?" Floyd asked, keeping the same pace.

"My craft!"

Ziggy hadn't imagined how bad the wreck of the spacecraft could be. Now he saw the damage in vivid detail… the melted metal, the gaping holes… The one thing that had sustained his life for billions of years, was ruined. Ziggy ran his fingers along the smooth surface and was overwhelmed with sadness.

"Do you need some time alone?" called Floyd's voice behind him.

"Oh, no," Ziggy retorted quickly, hearing the sarcastic edge in Floyd's tone. "It was only a craft. What do you think we should do with it?"

"It's just scrap metal now, isn't it?" Floyd said, accidentally allowing some boredom to creep into his voice. "We should just get rid of it."

"But it's so big," Ziggy said, staring at his beloved craft and hating Floyd for his disinterest.

"Well, leave it there and I'll get to it in the morning." Floyd stressed the _I, _clearly indicating that Ziggy was not part of the project.

"Okay." Ziggy cast one last, longing look at the craft before departing. As they walked back, he asked Floyd, "Why did we even come out here if you want to save it for tomorrow?"

Floyd grunted and said nothing. He needed to talk to Audrey.

Later that night, Ziggy observed as Eva was whisked away to an early bedtime. Audrey and Floyd said goodnight to Ziggy and hurried up to their room to talk. As soon as the door was closed, Floyd let loose the thoughts and feelings and questions that had been clouding his head all day.

"Audrey, I don't like Ziggy, and I don't trust him. I don't understand why he's here, and I don't like what he's done to our daughter. And his being here is placing limits on me. I had to wait all day just to talk with you, Audrey."

Audrey sat down on the bed and undid her hair. "I know what you mean. But Floyd, if you ever have anything to tell me about-"

"Just _tell _you," Floyd sighed. "I know, I know." He turned his back to the bed, and Audrey slipped her hands down the back of her shirt.

"I think you need to give Ziggy a chance," she said, unhooking her bra. "He's never even been to this planet before…"

"How are we supposed to believe that, Audrey?" Floyd asked, shaking. "We've seen the evidence with our own eyes, but it's not enough. I can't even fathom how and why a person from Mars would come to Earth after so many years…"

"Well, so far Ziggy's not talking." Audrey pulled her shirt over her head. "And he will tell us when he's ready. We've only known him for a day now."

Floyd was silent before asking, "What about Eva?"

Audrey rolled her skirt off her legs and onto the floor. "What _about _Eva? She seems perfectly fine with Ziggy."

"But don't you think it's a little odd?" Floyd said. "She's enamored with a m- a person she barely knows."

"She trusts him. And I don't think he would hurt her." Audrey finished undressing by sliding her underwear off and then stretched out naked on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Hearing silence, and having said all he needed to say, Floyd turned around and saw Audrey on the bed. He sat down at her feet and she gazed at him as he too undressed. They inched closer and closer to each other, finally connecting in a passionate kiss. The nights would never be enough for them.

Ziggy, brooding on the sofa downstairs, heard a loud moan from the upper rooms. He sat up and listened attentively, and the moan came again, accompanied by a _thud. _Alarmed, Ziggy stood up and began to cross the floor towards the stairs, only to be stopped in his tracks by more sounds that identified the reason for the moans. The new sounds were less of someone being hurt and more of lovers working themselves into throes of frenzied passion. Ziggy suddenly understood why Eva had to be put to bed early, and questioned the Pinkertons' dubious reasons. It didn't seem right to leave a child awake in her bed next door to hear the sounds of her parents' lovemaking. Ziggy traveled up the steps and passed by the Pinkertons' bedroom, hearing Floyd call Audrey's name.

Inside Eva's bedroom, the child was lying on her side, wide awake. Her face lit up when she saw that Ziggy was there. Ziggy sat down near her on the bed and stroked her hair. "Are you tired, Eva?"

"Not very much," she answered. Another _thud _came from her parent's bedroom, and Eva sighed and snuggled down into her blanket. "Do you know what they do in there, Ziggy?"

Ziggy had no idea how to successfully answer the question. Eva waited patiently. Finally Ziggy shrugged his shoulders without saying a word, and Eva looked disappointed. "I hear noises every night," she said. "They always sound like that and they come from Mummy and Daddy's room. I wanted to know what they were but the door is locked, and Mummy didn't like it when I asked her."

Ziggy was very tempted to tell Eva exactly what her parents were doing, but he held back. The passion was coming to an end, and an _mmmmmmmmmmmm_ could be heard through the walls. There was one last, soft _thud, _and then everything was quiet.

"Will you tell me a story, Ziggy?" Eva asked. "Daddy likes to tell me stories."

Ziggy looked at the child, cuddling next to a stuffed toy. "All right," he said. "Once upon a time, there was a man who lived among the stars…"

Audrey and Floyd lay in bed, arms around each other, panting and cooling off from their roll in the hay. Audrey pressed her lips gently to Floyd's forehead. "I love you," she whispered, trailing his spine with her finger.

"I love you too," he said, kissing her back. They said nothing more until Audrey, overcome with exhaustion, fell asleep in Floyd's arms. Then Floyd held her, stroking her cheek repeatedly, and wondered as he often did at night if anyone really loved him or if it was just a crazy dream.

_And if I show you my dark side, will you still hold me tonight? If I open my heart to you and show you my weak side, what would you do?_

If Audrey knew about all the awful things Floyd had done in the past, would she still claim to love him? They never talked about the time back then, when their relationship had been nearly strained to the breaking point. Floyd had never spoken about his experience on that fateful day to anyone, but memories of his big hallucination still haunted him. They manifested in dreams that came occasionally, reminding him of what a poor excuse for a person he was. He should have never left Audrey like that… he should have never done those awful things…

Floyd never mentioned the dreams to Audrey. When he had them, he would wake up and turn away from her so that she could not feel the fear in his body. He would lie there, unable to comfort himself by saying _It's just a dream_ because everything he had dreamed was true, and sometimes cry softly. Then calm would sink in, and Floyd would turn back to Audrey and hold her until he slipped into a dream-free sleep.

One memory would always return to him in those moments of vulnerability. The second time that Audrey had saved his life. He'd held the blade in trembling hands, poised at his throat, prepared to make it… but she had slipped down the stairs, saw what he was doing, and instantly managed to talk him out of it. It was indubitable that she had made the better decision.

And yet…

_I never had the nerve to make the final cut._


	4. We've Got Five Years

Chapter Three: _We've Got Five Years_

In the days that followed, Ziggy worked hard to fit in with the Pinkerton family. He made no nuisance of himself, and didn't attempt to replace Floyd or Audrey in any way. He did help them, however- Floyd in jobs around the house, Audrey with teaching Eva. Audrey had to admit that Ziggy was a much better teacher than she was. Floyd still did not trust Ziggy, but their work together forged a bond between them. He grew a bit more open with Ziggy, but always saved the truly meaningful conversations for Audrey's ears.

The more Ziggy became part of the family, however, the more restless he became, and the less he would answer questions. All the Pinkertons knew about him was that he was from Mars and his name was Ziggy. Once when Audrey asked Ziggy why he had come to Earth- the question that had been on her and Floyd's minds for days- he grew slightly agitated and changed the subject. This, in Floyd's mind, was proof that Ziggy was up to no good, but Audrey was more forgiving. _Maybe he came here accidentally, _she said, _and it embarrasses him._

Ziggy himself was becoming frustrated with human life. Audrey, Floyd, and Eva were the only humans he had seen so far in his time on Earth, as the Pinkertons' house was far out in the middle of the woods in Somerset and their property extended for miles. Audrey went into town often for shopping, but Ziggy was always occupied with work from Floyd at the time, or left in charge of Eva. Being so close and yet so far away from civilization was discouraging.

Every day Ziggy was reminded that he had come to Earth for a reason. He had come to warn them against impending danger! And yet Floyd and Audrey seemed perfectly adjusted. Ziggy wondered if they were too far from civilization to know the awful truth… or had it really not been discovered yet? Human technology was not very advanced. This was why he needed to go out on the town- to have his questions answered.

However, there were a few more interesting questions to be answered right there in the household. Ziggy was afraid of intruding on personal issues, but he couldn't help but wonder why the Pinkertons lived so far away from civilization, why their daughter was homeschooled, and what their pasts were like. Of course it was only fair for them to keep silent, as none of the Pinkertons had pried Ziggy about his past, but Ziggy was naturally curious and thus felt the need to know everything. He held off on his questions, however, deciding to wait until the bigger ones were answered. And one day they were.

On that day, Audrey announced she was going into town like any other day. This time, though, Eva asked if she could go with her. Audrey replied in a cautious affirmative, and Eva then asked if Ziggy could come too. Audrey glanced at the alien, stretched out on the couch, who said he had nothing to do and that he would love to see the town. Bidding Floyd farewell, the threesome left for town, Ziggy more excited than he had been since he landed on Earth. He watched the world through the glass windows of the car- a vehicle the likes of which he'd never been in before. Out of the woods, Somerset was still a very green, rural sort of place. It suited Ziggy just fine- he hadn't seen or even thought about grass for years.

Coming into town at last, Ziggy could hardly contain his excitement. There were _humans _out there… humans who weren't the Pinkertons! Members of a breed that Ziggy was not a part of. He realized he could now watch them talk, walk, and interact with others in their natural environment of the towns. As soon as the car parked, Ziggy unbuckled his seatbelt and practically jumped outside. While Audrey got Eva out of her car seat, Ziggy made his first contact with other humans.

"HELLO!" Ziggy shouted at the passersby. "What a fine day! I hope you're enjoying it!" He spread out his arms and beamed at the world.

The humans reacted with stares and strange looks. Unaware that he was doing anything out of the ordinary, Ziggy waved at each person that walked by, each of whom ignored or tried to ignore him. Audrey slammed the car door shut, took ahold of Eva's hand, caught sight of Ziggy… "Oh god," she muttered under her breath, mortified, and hurried up to him. "Ziggy, I'm not sure how open they are on Mars, but here on Earth we don't tend to talk to strangers." She pulled him reluctantly away and continued down the sidewalk.

"Why not?" Ziggy asked, his voice loaded with confusion. He tried to touch Audrey's arm, but she wouldn't look at him. "I mean… you want to know these people, don't you?"

Audrey stared at Ziggy, trying to remind herself that he had been alone in space for thousands of years and had never seen a human before; it was only natural for him to be curious. "We just don't. Humans…" She stopped and glanced around as if others could hear her. "Humans are not a very social race. Sure, we make friends, we write letters and talk on the phone, and we make families together. But none of us would willingly talk to another person unless we knew them or are introduced to them. You can't act as if everyone is your friend."

"On the contrary," Ziggy replied. "Humans are a very lonely race. I should know because I've heard your satellites broadcasting into space, searching desperately for any sign of life out there. You may think otherwise, but _I _think that any species who is constantly looking for life outside of its own billion-populated planet is a very social one."

Audrey was tempted to ask if there really was life on other planets out there, but she held her tongue as they moved on through the town. "I don't think we should talk about this here," she said to Ziggy. "For all intents and purposes, you are a human."

They headed through the market square, Audrey musing over her grocery list and sighing at the crowd of people. "There's more people here than I've ever seen before," she murmured to herself. "What's going on?"

The crowd was gathering around a small podium in the middle of the square, where a lone figure was speaking into a faulty mic. Audrey couldn't hear his words, but the people in the front who were closest to him reacted in shock. She tried to push her way through, but the crowd was a solid, unmoving block. Whispers ran up and down the line, translating for those who couldn't hear. Then a loud wail rang out, and the crowd became a blur of motion, the market square descending into chaos as they surged at the podium. Audrey was nearly knocked over.

"What's going on?!" she yelled, fighting her way through the fray with her grip tight on Eva's hand. No one bothered to answer- they were too busy screaming and fighting with each other. Audrey forced her way out of the crowd, only to be hit by a large man holding a newscaster's camera. He grabbed her should with his free hand, tears running down his face.

"What's wrong?!" Audrey shouted above the din. "What happened?"

The newscaster managed to gasp between sobs, "We've got five years."

"Five years for what?"

"That man standing on the podium over there… he's a scientist." The newscaster stared deeply at Audrey with desperate, bloodshot eyes. "He says Earth is really dying, and we've got five years left."

"What?!"

The newscaster departed, weeping. Audrey felt a stone sink in her stomach. The world tilted sickeningly beneath her feet. One word rang through her mind. _Eva. _She clung to her daughter and lifted her into her arms, cradling her tightly as if an assassin had his eye trained on her. Eva looked scared and confused, not having heard what was going on- or maybe just not understanding.

Then Audrey's mind replaced _Eva _with _Ziggy. _Where was their Martian guest? What was his response to the news?

As soon as Ziggy heard the words "Five years," he froze stock-still in the middle of the square. People swamped the podium, pushing rudely around him, but Ziggy didn't take notice. He felt oddly detached from the world, observing calmly and coldly everything around him. So it had happened at last, and the humans were reacting violently to the news. Ziggy surged forward, his mind replacing all the humans with those of his own kind and his surroundings with the red rocks of Mars- scenery which he could remember quite clearly despite years of being away from it. He fought off the people around the podium and snatched the microphone, raising it to his lips and shouting as loudly as he could. "QUIET!"

Audrey saw Ziggy on the podium with the microphone. In an instant she was running forward towards him, unknowingly, trying to save him from the swarm of people. But the said people actually had quieted and were staring fixedly and openly at Ziggy's unusual features. The pale skin… the thinness… the lightning bolt over one eye… Seeing that they had settled, Ziggy began to speak.

"Everyone, please! I know that the news you have just heard is deeply upsetting, but there's no need for senseless violence in response! We've got five years left, and that's more than it sounds like! Five years is enough time for a boy to become a man, for a couple to meet and fall in love, for babies to be born! So don't hasten the demise of yourselves- it will come in the end! There's no point in fighting when there's nothing to fight against!"

The crowd started jeering at Ziggy, and he attempted to hush them. "Settle down, the lot of you! You'd better face the facts. Earth is dying, whether you like it or not. That's fate! But when it dies… you don't have to be on it!"

"What the hell is she talking about?" someone called clearly.

"Get away from here! Shut up! The world is dying!" another answered. Soon Ziggy was overwhelmed by more people as they charged the stage. He jumped back into the crowd and raced for shelter, coming to the protection that Audrey provided. Together they ran back to the car, holding Eva all the way, and drove off. Ziggy's heart was pounding a mile a minute. He hadn't addressed crowds that large since he was on Mars.

Audrey only lasted a few minutes before pulling over to the side of the road. She didn't care that Ziggy was there. Her neck slumped over and her head hit the steering wheel as her back convulsed with sobs. She sat there weeping as cars sped past her on the street. _Five years… five years… _sounded dully in her head.

"Mummy, what's wrong? Don't cry," Eva said, alarmed. Ziggy unbuckled his seatbelt and then turned and unbuckled Eva from hers, lifting her into his arms.

"Your mummy is very upset right now," he said, stroking Eva's hair. She reached out towards Audrey, touching her on the shoulder. Audrey merely responded with another burst of sobbing. Ziggy set Eva down on his lap and laid a hand carefully on Audrey's upper back, smoothing her hair away from her face. "It's all right," he said gently. "I saw this happen on my home planet. It will all be all right." _Although that's not entirely true…_

"Floyd," Audrey whispered in a broken voice. She shook, refusing to look up until the tears dried up. She looked over, caught sight of Eva, and nearly wept again. Her daughter… her beautiful, beautiful daughter had only five years left to live…

"Ziggy, do you know how to drive? I can't…"

"Well, not exactly," Ziggy said, "but I do know how to pilot a spacecraft. Give me the controls."

They switched places in the car and Audrey kept Eva buckled in on her lap as Ziggy sped down the winding road, far over the speed limit. Eva reached up and wiped the tears off Audrey's cheeks. "Don't be sad, Mum. I love you."

"I love you too," Audrey whispered. "More than you could possible know." She gazed out the window, seeing nothing but Floyd's face in her mind. She knew that only he could get her through this. They would mourn together.

Ziggy was left alone with Eva as Audrey went up to her bedroom with Floyd to explain what had happened that day. Once her tale was finished, Floyd grabbed Audrey to his chest and kissed her very hard. "I can't believe it," was the only thing he could say. "I can't believe it."

"Neither can I," Audrey moaned, longing to lose herself in Floyd's arms and just forget everything that had happened. "Our daughter will only live to be…"

"Ten years old," Floyd whispered, finishing for her. "You know, Audrey, I wouldn't care about this as much if it was just us who were going to die. But knowing that it's Eva…"

He kissed her again, and Audrey let his hands roam across her body. Both of them desperately needed comfort, and this was Floyd's way of showing it. His mouth was hungry against hers, tinged with need, longing, and despair.

"I should have never impregnated you," Floyd whispered. "We should have never done it. You shouldn't have given birth to her…"

"Floyd, I can't imagine how our life would have been without Eva," Audrey said. "Don't regret us having her. She's made all the difference in our life."

"I can't stop blaming myself, though," Floyd groaned. He gripped Audrey even tighter. "If I'd never had you in bed… if I never interfered in your life at all…"

"None of that would have stopped the world from ending," Audrey reminded her husband. "It's no fault of yours that-"

"That an apocalypse is coming to take our daughter away from us before she's even a teenager?" Floyd asked. "What is my fault is that the daughter exists in the first place! I shouldn't be here with you, Audrey. If I'd never met you, you wouldn't have to go through all this pain right now…"

"Stop it!" Audrey finally broke free of Floyd's clutches. She glared at him, trying not to administer a slap to his face. "Floyd, you're being ridiculous. You are in my life right now, and there's no changing that. Eva is a part of us, and we can't change that either. And the world is ending in five years. That too is irreversible! There's no point in wishing that you'd never met me, because here we are anyway! We might as well make the best of these last five years before they're over."

Floyd was still staring down at his open arms, frozen. It took him a long time, but finally the words came out as his eyes were glued to the floor. "Audrey… I'm sorry." He looked up, piercing Audrey in place with a soul-searching gaze. "I just… I need you… so much right now…" He stepped forward, offering himself to her. Audrey didn't move.

"I need you," Floyd whispered, his voice strained. "Audrey, I… I can't handle this…"

She walked forward, kicking her shoes off. They collided in an intense kiss that lasted for what seemed like hours, a kiss that deepened as clothing fell at their feet and Floyd pushed Audrey backwards onto the bed, losing himself in her body. Together, they mourned as one- crying together, moaning together, comforting each other. Finally they broke apart and stared at the ceiling, Audrey straightening her hair with her fingers and Floyd brushing tears from his cheeks. Now that the pain had been disposed of physically, the two felt ready to compose themselves and head downstairs to explain to Eva what was going on.

"I love you," Floyd whispered to Audrey as she dressed.

"I love you too."

"Please- don't ever leave me."

"I won't." And she didn't. They descended the stairs hand in hand.

Later that night, when Eva had been put to bed, Audrey and Floyd sat down with Ziggy in order to get him to spill everything he seemed to know about Earth's impending destruction. Ziggy glanced sadly from one face to the other, knowing that it was probably not a good idea to have hidden his knowledge from them.

"My planet, Mars, died from the same thing your planet is dying of. We weren't given the five year deadline until it was too late, unfortunately. I first noticed the symptoms of Earth a little while before I came here. My entire reason for arriving was that I felt I could save Earth if I warned enough people."

"So how did you notice Earth was dying?" Floyd asked. "What were the symptoms?"

"It's surprisingly easy to spot if you're an astronaut," Ziggy said. "The atmosphere becomes thick and clouded with yellow. As soon as I saw that cloud around your planet, I knew it was going to die, and something had to be done."

"But why didn't you tell us first thing?" Audrey asked.

"Because I thought you knew already… I was wrong," Ziggy replied, biting his lip. "I know I told you today, Audrey, that it will all be all right… Well, that wasn't true. Seeing the way the crowd responded to the news today, I don't think we're even going to make the five years last."

He looked away from the Pinkertons, hearing the cries of the crowd all around him.

"I'm sure there will be a lot of suicides tonight."

"Can't you do anything to help us, though?" Audrey pleaded. "How did you survive the destruction of Mars?"

"I only survived because I hijacked a spacecraft," Ziggy replied. "No one else wanted to come with me. I launched myself into space and stayed there until Mars was dead, and then I traveled all over, all alone, until I came here. If we could get the humans to do that…"

"They won't be reasonable about it," Floyd mumbled dully. "They won't even believe you're from Mars, and they certainly won't believe that escaping to space is the best thing to do. They'll prefer wallowing in misery down here on Earth to setting off into the unknown. And besides, the people who provide the spacecrafts will probably take so long in deciding whether or not to use them that the five years will be up soon."

"That's what it was like on Mars," Ziggy said quietly, but didn't offer anything more on the subject.

He stayed up far later than he should have that night, racking his brains for the solution to the problem. If he could somehow persuade the public into believing that his idea for surviving the apocalypse was the best one, and if he could give them enough hope to last for five long years…

But who would listen to him? They hadn't listened on Mars before it was too late. Why should Earth be any different?


	5. Sit Back And Let The Evening Go

Chapter Four: _Sit Back And Let The Evening Go_

Oddly enough, nothing really changed around the Pinkerton household after the reveal that Earth was dying. Ziggy and Audrey still taught Eva her lessons every day, and Floyd still worked around the house. Floyd and Audrey still had noisy sex in their room every night, and Ziggy still told Eva stories to help her fall asleep. The only difference was in Floyd's relationship with Ziggy. He was no longer distrustful, though still a bit closed to him, and they spoke together as they worked- albeit of trivial things, things that didn't matter, unlike their pasts and the current condition of Earth. Even to talk of the most useless things lifted a weight from Floyd's back, so that he was more relaxed at night around Audrey. He wouldn't call himself Ziggy's friend, but they certainly had become more than just acquaintances.

Ziggy himself was feeling useless, and hating it. He had only been to town once, on the fateful day of discovery, and was itching to get back there. But once there, what could he possibly do to help the humans? Had his journey to Earth been for nothing? Doubting himself and his abilities, Ziggy stayed home whenever Audrey went out to town, afraid that he wouldn't know what to do when he got there. When Audrey came back, she always had news of how far things had fallen- _There are street riots every day, and some houses have burned. I can't imagine what it must be like in London._

One day, however, the news Audrey brought back was surprisingly cheerful. "You'll never guess what they're preparing for in town today," she said over the dinner table, passing a dish of peaches to her right. "They're having a concert."

Floyd, sitting across from Audrey, nearly choked on his food. He composed himself quickly, but Ziggy's blue eyes fell on him, staring sharply. They stayed there even as he asked Audrey, "Do you mean a musical concert?"

"Yes," she replied. "And you'll never guess who's playing, either."

"Who?" Ziggy asked, watching Floyd turn pale at the end of the table.

"They're a band I loved when I was a teenager… Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. I think this is their reunion tour. It's nice to see some spirit in the town that's not all doom and gloom, but I'm afraid no one will go to the concert."

"Well, you could go," Ziggy suggested. "And I could go, and so could Floyd." He gave Floyd a glance, and the man swallowed his most recent bite and set his fork down. "No thank you, Ziggy," he said weakly. "I've never been one for concerts."

"We could take Eva," Audrey said quickly. "Eva, would you like to see a concert?"

"I don't know. What's a concert?" was her response. Audrey explained, and Eva nodded. "I like that!"

"So it's settled," Ziggy said. "Audrey, Eva, and I are all getting tickets. Sorry you don't want to come, Floyd." He cast a long look at Floyd, who felt uncomfortable.

"That's all right," he murmured. "I never really liked them anyway."

The venue that Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band were playing in was a huge outdoor arena. Audrey had bought seats on the ground, where there were no chairs, and brought along a huge picnic blanket to sit on. She, Ziggy, and Eva were surrounded by fans in colorful clothing and the smell of marijuana. Audrey wondered if it had been a good idea to bring Eva along. Ziggy enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells very much. The atmosphere was surprisingly cheerful- maybe everyone else wanted to forget their troubles just as badly as Audrey and Ziggy did.

There was no real opening act. The stagelights merely went up at the start of the show, and even though it was still light outside, many audience members started cheering and applauding. Then a man entered with the stagehands, who began to play the first song behind him. The man took the microphone and called to the audience.

"It was twenty years ago today, Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play! They've been going in and out of style, but they're guaranteed to raise a smile. So let me introduce to you, the act you've known for all these years- Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band!"

At that moment, the band stepped out, each wearing a bright, colorful uniform and each carrying an unusual instrument. Ziggy was riveted, unable to stop staring. The uniforms were handsome and really caught his eye, but as the music swelled he felt a throbbing deep in his chest- a deep emotion that he hadn't felt for a while: what was it?

_We're Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_

_We hope you will enjoy the show_

_Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_

_Sit back and let the evening go_

Audrey looked at Eva, worried that the sound was too loud for her- she had bought her earplugs, but sitting so close to the stage could destroy that. Fortunately, Eva seemed to be enjoying herself. She bounced to her feet and began clapping to the music.

_It's wonderful to be here_

_It's certainly a thrill_

_You're such a lovely audience_

_We'd like to take you home with us_

_We'd like to take you home!_

Ziggy gasped as his heart fluttered. He realized what the emotion was- love. For the following hour, he lost himself completely and utterly in the music.

_We're Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_

_We hope you have enjoyed the show_

_Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_

_We're sorry but it's time to go_

The concert ended with an earth-shattering piano chord that reverberated across the walls for hours, during which time the audience screamed with joy for another encore until their voices died. Ziggy emerged from his waking slumber, coming to very slowly. He mechanically followed Audrey and Eva out, his mind a blaze of white sparks. He was sure he wouldn't be able to speak the following morning.

"Did you enjoy it, Ziggy?" Audrey asked, carrying the sleeping Eva to the car.

"I loved it," he whispered hoarsely. And that was all he could say about that.

Floyd was waiting at home, sitting on the couch and nervously checking the clock every few minutes. The thought of Audrey and Eva being at a rock concert made him anxious beyond belief. It wasn't just that there had been riots in Bath lately- it was more that he was afraid of them getting hurt by the music itself. Floyd tried to imagine what the concert was like, and instantly had to stop- just the mental image of the outdoor arena, a place that he had performed at before in the past, filled him with agony. Unable to take any more, Floyd stood up and the door opened. Audrey walked in with Eva asleep in her arms, and Ziggy followed behind her, his eyes glazed.

"How was it?" Floyd asked as Audrey came to him for a kiss.

"It was lovely," she said.

"Did you like it?" Floyd asked Ziggy. He nodded wordlessly and sank down on the couch. Eva stirred the slightest bit in Audrey's arms, and Audrey smiled a frazzled smile. "Let's get her up to bed." They walked upstairs, leaving Ziggy to his thoughts and dreams.

Over breakfast the next morning, Ziggy cleared his throat, which was still slightly rough and scratchy from cheering at last night's concert. "I've made a decision," he announced to the Pinkertons.

"Yes?"

"I've decided to become a musician," Ziggy said, smiling. "You remember how the concert last night went. Everyone loved the band, and it took their minds off of the end of the world, only if for a night. I think if I became a musician and played with a band, it would help spread my message. People would believe me if I told them there was a way to survive the death of Earth. They would trust me if my music was good enough. I think this is exactly the thing you humans need- a savior, someone to look up to in these dark days."

Floyd couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything. He desperately glanced at Audrey, who turned her gaze to the beaming Ziggy. "That sounds like a great idea," she said. "Have you thought of how you're going to become a musician?"

"Well, I can sing, though I'm not very good at it," Ziggy said. "I can play the flute too. And I'll go to London, where there's more demand." He looked over at the immobile Floyd. "What do you think?"

Floyd got the words out- "I think you'll need more than just good music." He struggled with the next sentence. "People these days won't listen to you unless you've got a good gimmick."

"But I do have a good gimmick," Ziggy said proudly. "I have the truth. I'll tell everyone I'm from Mars. They might call me a nut, but who can't resist the thought of a Martian who knows about the destruction of planets? And I look so different from the rest of you humans that I'll stand out."

Floyd nodded, but his mind was millions of miles away. He wanted to tell Ziggy not to involve himself in celebrity. He wanted to tell him to steer clear of the music business altogether. But he only sat back and sipped his warm tea as Ziggy got up and announced that he'd better start packing.


	6. Songs of Darkness and Disgrace

Chapter Five: _Songs of Darkness and Disgrace_

It was all over in a day. Floyd drove Ziggy to the train station while Audrey and Eva waved from the front porch. Eva was crying. She had given Ziggy a drawing of himself and his spacecraft, which Ziggy had earnestly described to her, as a going-away present. As they turned down roads and Ziggy talked excitedly of his future, Floyd decided to give him some tips on staying ahead of the game in the music business- if Ziggy wanted to get famous, then he might as well do it right.

"The main thing you should know is that to get a record label to notice you, you have to have some good songs written. You should also know how to play an instrument. Flute is okay, but there's not much demand on the market for that kind of music. I suggest you buy yourself a guitar and learn to play it before writing any songs. Make sure the lyrics have a message, too- they have to be something people can get behind and understand and support."

"You seem to know a lot about music," Ziggy said. "Where did you learn all this?"

Floyd shrugged. "I write songs sometimes." That was true. He wrote all of his songs down in a little black book, which he hid from Audrey in the dresser drawer. Not that she wouldn't like it, though- most of the songs Floyd had currently written were love songs to her. But some of them conveyed a depressed, black state of mind that would worry Audrey if she read them.

"Maybe you should become a musician instead of me," Ziggy laughed. Floyd's grip was steel on the steering wheel. _No. Never, ever again._

They didn't hear from Ziggy for weeks and weeks, although he had promised to write. During this time, Eva sulked around the house, refusing to do her lessons. Audrey tried to tell her that Ziggy would be back someday, but Eva wouldn't believe it. Audrey was at her wit's end when the letter came in the mail, a month after Ziggy had left the Pinkerton household.

_Hello, everyone!_

_My fortune has turned up since you last heard from me. I did indeed become a musician. I took all your advice, Floyd, and it has served me well. I'm still not too sure of my singing capabilities, but I love the guitar. It's an instrument like no other, and I picked up on it quickly. There's a single to be released in a few days- "Starman." It's only been a month, but already I am quite the sensation here in London. It's very shocking. I know as soon as I begin recording my album, things will start getting serious. My manager, who I don't really like, has told me that my first album will make all the difference. I hope he's correct, and I hope it truly changes the world._

_How are you all? I hope everyone is doing well and that Eva isn't missing me very much. To tell the truth, I miss all of you. You should come out to my next show in London! The tickets are very cheap, and I would love to see you all there._

_Love and kisses,_

_Ziggy_

Floyd read this letter aloud at the breakfast table, and Eva squealed when her name was mentioned. "Ziggy's back!" Audrey smiled at the conclusion of the note. "We should take a day trip to London to see Ziggy play. It sounds as if he's gotten quite good."

"Please, Mummy?" Eva asked. "Please can we see Ziggy?"

"Of course!" Audrey turned to Floyd. "Do you want to come?"

Floyd was torn with indecision. On the one hand, it would be nice to see Ziggy again. On the other hand, he wasn't sure if he could get over his fear of concerts. He shook his head no, and Audrey sighed, adjusting her position with a slight look of disappointment.

"It will only be a few minutes long," she said to Floyd when Eva was off playing by herself. "He's playing clubs. It'll be entirely different from what you think."

"I can't risk myself," Floyd said. "I'm sorry."

"Floyd, you have to face your fears eventually." Audrey took his hand. "We moved out here to Somerset and bought this house in the woods so you could forget everything that happened to you. You're a recluse stuck at home because you can't bear people recognizing you. But it's been six years, Floyd. I think it's time you came back to the world. There is nothing to be afraid of."

"I know it's irrational," Floyd said, his head shaking. "I just can't. I'm sorry, but I can never- will never- go back to London."

Audrey said nothing, only played with Floyd's fingers for a while before getting up and walking away.

Audrey and Eva left for London the next day. When they returned, they were bubbling over with news about Ziggy. "He was so delighted to see us," Audrey said. "And his music is amazing. Floyd, you must go see him as soon as you can. He's going into the studio in a few days and that will limit his amount of time performing."

"I'll think about it," Floyd said, already convinced that he was never going to see Ziggy perform.

"No, you'll _know _about it," Audrey persisted. "You have to go see him, Floyd. He's unbelievable on that stage. I'll come with you if you want…"

"No," said Floyd. "I've got to do this myself."

The next day he was headed off to London for the first time in five years.

London was just as gray and bleak and dismal as Floyd remembered, maybe even more so now. He walked past tall building in the pouring rain, some scorched black skeletons of what they used to be. Broken glass littered the streets, and the walls were covered in graffiti. The only place that looked remotely inviting was Floyd's destination- a club deep in downtown London. The sign outside read the list of acts that were playing that afternoon, and right smack dab in the middle was ZIGGY STARDUST. Floyd entered the club and took a seat near the back, shaking the water out of his coat. He checked the clock on the wall- it was only a matter of minutes before Ziggy showed up.

When Ziggy did appear, the waiting crowd gave cheers that shocked Floyd. Ziggy had said he was 'quite the sensation' in London, but these cheers were of deep love and affection, more than Floyd would have believed possible. Ziggy was dressed in normal attire- a white T-shirt and bright blue jeans. He carried a brown acoustic guitar, and sat down on another brown stool. The stagelights gleamed on the makeup on his face, and his long black hair was smoothed back behind his ears. Ziggy smiled at the audience before telling them, "You might know this one," and beginning to play. And Floyd became entranced with the song.

"_Didn't know what time it was, and the lights were low… I leaned back on my radio. Some cat was layin' down some rock and roll lotta soul, he said. Then the loud sound did seem to fade… came back like a slow voice on a wave of phase. That weren't no DJ, that was hazy cosmic jive!"_

Ziggy closed his eyes as he played, ignoring the cheers of the audience. His fingers slipped across the strings with ease, so that it was hard to believe he had only learned the guitar a month ago. He seemed to have a natural affinity and talent for the instrument.

"_There's a starman, waiting in the sky… he'd like to come and meet us, but he thinks he'll blow our minds. There's a starman waiting in the sky. He's told us not to blow it, cause he knows it's all worthwhile. He told me- 'Let the children use it! Let the children lose it! Let all the children boogie!'"_

The "children"- or rather, the fans in the audience- began to dance with that line. Men stood up on their chairs, while women swooned and sighed over Ziggy. Floyd stayed in place, feeling the music begin to open a soft spot deep within him that he had struggled to bury.

Ziggy finished the song and smiled. "Thank you!" The audience clapped and whistled appreciatively, and Floyd clapped too, unused to being an audience member and not onstage. He was thoroughly impressed with Ziggy's showmanship- so impressed, in fact, that he had no time to be frightened of the concert.

"Ah- I call this one, 'Changes,'" Ziggy continued, strumming the strings of his guitar. The audience cheered again, and one women screamed in enthusiasm. Ziggy laughed as he started to play again.

As Floyd watched Ziggy play, he realized that there was really no way to tell if Ziggy was a male or a female. His hair was long enough and his body was slender enough to belong to a woman, but the features on his face were just masculine enough to cast a shadow of doubt. Not even his voice was a good indicator- it sounded high-pitched enough to belong to a woman, but there was a hint of oddness there that could have belonged to either gender. Some of the men on their chairs were staring at the figure onstage with telltale love in their eyes. Floyd understood that this was part of Ziggy's mystique- he drew in both men and women, uniting them under a song.

"_And these children that you spit on, as they try to change their worlds," _Ziggy sang, "_are immune to your consultations. They're quite aware of what they're going through. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!"_

The audience began clapping along to the beat as Ziggy sang. "_Turn and face the strange, ch-ch-changes! Don't tell them to grow up or out of it! Ch-ch-ch-changes! Turn and face the strange, ch-ch-changes! Where's your shame? You've left us up to our necks in it! Time may change me, but you can't trace time."_

"An appropriate tune for these days," Ziggy said when the song finished. "Strange changes are coming all over the place, what with the deadline of five years left on Earth and all. I know it's sad, but you've all got to carry on."

To Floyd's surprise, the audience responded to this with the longest and loudest amount of clapping and cheering he had ever heard in a small club. The fans weren't worried about the end of the world now- they were thinking positively, hoping that they could carry on through five years.

"I'm going into the studio in a few days," Ziggy said. "I'm going to record my first album!" This was met with more cheers and claps. "That means that I won't be around this place very much soon." The audience booed. "But don't worry, I'll be back and better than ever! And you can all buy my album when it comes out. While you're waiting, I want you all to hold my music in your heart and remember that with hope, this destruction can be beaten." More clapping.

Behind Ziggy, the stagelights flickered on, revealing more instruments behind him. A group of musicians slipped out of the wings and took their places at their respective instruments. Ziggy hugged his guitar to himself and stood up. "This is a song I wrote about the day I discovered Earth was dying. It's called 'Five Years.'"

Floyd wasn't quite sure what to expect, but as the drumbeat began and Ziggy closed his eyes, gripping the microphone close to his mouth, he felt his stomach lurch and his heart surge. An indescribable emotion arose inside of him as Ziggy began to sing softly. "_Pushing through the market square, so many mothers sighing. News had just come over- we had five years left to cry in."_

Floyd could truly say that he had never had an emotional reaction to any form of music. However, as 'Five Years' unfolded, he shook with the song's power. His eyes were riveted to the stage, watching as Ziggy sang about the death of Earth, and he hugged himself tightly to keep from going off his rocker or something. Ziggy's voice reached spectacular heights as he came to the climax of the song.

"_We've got five years_

_Stuck on my eyes_

_We've got five years_

_What a surprise_

_We've got five years_

_My brain hurts a lot_

_We've got five years_

_That's all we've got."_

As Ziggy sang, his voice became increasingly broken, until he was screaming the lyrics over and over with the audience. "WE'VE GOT FIVE YEARS!" Floyd was shocked as he realized Ziggy was actually crying. Tears streamed from beneath his closed eyelids, and yet he sang without missing a note.

Floyd was cold by the time the song finished. The hair on his neck and arms was standing up. Ziggy opened his eyes and turned around, wiping the tears off his face, and then he turned back to the audience and smiled, softly murmuring, "Thank you." The audience went wild, and many fans were sobbing as well.

As Ziggy started the next song, a hand tapped Floyd on the shoulder. He turned around and saw two women standing behind him, wearing heavy makeup. "Hello, sir?" the first one asked. "Do you know that man's name?"

"She's not a man," the second woman scoffed. "Have you seen her? She's obviously a woman!"

Floyd looked at the stage and smiled a strange, soft, sad smile. "That's Ziggy Stardust," he told the women quietly. "He's a man."

"See, I knew I was right!" the first woman gleefully bragged. "Thank you, sir!" The two departed, and Floyd sighed, turning his attention back to the stage.

After the show, Floyd raced backstage to meet Ziggy. He found a dressing room and knocked on the door. When it opened, Ziggy appeared, his face melting into a joyful grin. "Floyd! You're here!" He pulled Floyd inside and gave him a hug.

"I loved your show-" Floyd began, and then stopped. Music was playing in the dressing room, coming from a tiny transistor radio. The pompous sound of it was unmistakable to Floyd. _If you wanna find out what's behind these cold eyes…_ This was 'In The Flesh?', one of Floyd's old songs!

"Why are you playing that, Ziggy?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, I just turned it on," Ziggy answered. He reached over and switched the radio off. "I knew you would overcome your hatred of concerts! Thank you so much for your praise, it means a lot to me."

"You're welcome," Floyd said. "I can see you've gotten good at writing lyrics." _Much better than I am, anyway._

"Oh, it came naturally," Ziggy said. "It surprised me, in fact- I just sat down to write and this all just poured out of me. It was the same with learning the guitar. I only practiced for a week or two and suddenly I could play every note!" He laughed. "That wasn't quite as surprising, though… I have had musical experience on Mars."

"You're kidding," Floyd said, but he knew Ziggy wasn't. Ziggy gestured to a chair. "Do sit down!" Floyd sat.

"Tell me, what was your favorite part of the show?" Ziggy asked, leaning in eagerly.

Floyd thought. "I really liked the song 'Five Years.' Very moving."

"Oh, thank you," Ziggy nodded. "I usually try to perform it that way every night. It really gets the message across."

"You mean you cry every time you sing it?"

"Not always, but sometimes. I'm not even trying on those occasions. It's something about singing those notes that really touches your soul." Ziggy peered anxiously at Floyd. "You didn't think it was too over-the-top, did you now?"

"No, it was perfect," Floyd said. "Just the right amount of emotion. It certainly conveys how I felt when I heard the news."

"That's strange," Ziggy said. "You didn't show it."

Floyd let the remark slide by.

"So how are you enjoying London?" he asked.

"It's okay." Ziggy shrugged. "There's more people here than I've ever seen in my entire life. And it's not very sunny."

Floyd laughed a little at that. "Calling London sunny would be like calling you a woman," he said. "Which, by the way, I heard several people in the audience tonight do."

"Not that again," Ziggy sighed. "I might have to start telling people outright that I'm a man, just to get things straight. I don't understand what's so different about my looks. Everyone on Mars looked like that…"

"Well, from a distance you do look and sound rather like a woman," Floyd said. "But I think that's a good thing. You've obviously got a great stage persona by now."

"Why, thanks again, Floyd," Ziggy said. "I just took my inner self and ran with it."

They were interrupted at that point by a new knocking on the door. Ziggy leapt up to answer it, revealing a man in a black suit with sunglasses. "Ziggy, my boy! You need to get out of here! The next band's here and they're pissed that the dressing room is not available."

"Oh! Okay!" Ziggy began rushing around the room, picking up his belongings. Floyd was about to slip unnoticed out the door before the manager caught sight of him. "Hey, you! Who's this?"

Floyd tried to shut Ziggy up before he had begun talking, but it was too late. "This is my friend, Floyd Pinkerton," he said hurriedly, throwing his guitar case over one shoulder.

The manager stared at Floyd, and he prayed silently that he was irrelevant now, or at least that no one had heard of his real name. But the manager was in the music business, after all, and blurted, "Wait… Floyd Pinkerton?" He took a step towards Floyd, who backed away instinctively.

"No- that's not my name," he said quickly, making for the door. "Ziggy was just messing with you…"

"No, of course it's not your name!" the manager cried, his face lighting up like a lightbulb. "Why, you're Pink Floyd!"

Floyd shook his head and bolted towards the door frame. "I- I've never heard of him. Goodbye, Ziggy!" He fled the club, dashing out the door with Ziggy's surprised face imprinted in his mind.


	7. Your Possible Pasts

Chapter Six: _Your Possible Pasts_

After the almost-being-recognized-by-Ziggy's-manager incident, Floyd refused to go out to see Ziggy play live again. Audrey tried to talk him into one last trip to London, but Floyd said that he couldn't risk being recognized. When Audrey pressed him to talk about it, Floyd explained that he couldn't answer questions about himself and where he had gone, and that having to remember the shame of his past was too stressful. Audrey considered his words silently when he was gone.

_There was a time once when you built a wall between yourself and me, _she thought. _Now the wall is between yourself and your past. It never truly came down._

Yes, Audrey knew about the wall. She had, after all, built a small one herself when her mother died. After Floyd had come home from the hospital six years ago, Audrey had realized that he was much less inhibited with her. She had imagined some sort of wall inside him had been knocked down, and this in turn had caused her own to fall. Now that both of their walls were gone, Floyd seemed to have built another, less substantial wall- namely, one that separated himself from his painful memories of the time with the old wall. This was arguably a good thing, as Floyd had realized the error of his ways and attempted to distance himself from his mistakes, but to Audrey it was a form of regression. If Floyd never accepted that yes, he had done truly bad things in his life like cheat on his wife, he would never find true peace with himself.

Audrey had never learned what exactly it was that Floyd felt so ashamed of in the past. Of course, he had cheated on her, but she had cheated right back, and that didn't seem like such a crime that it would make him embarrassed to show his face in public. Audrey imagined that whatever had happened must have been something truly terrible, that no one would ever forget as long as they lived. Yet it couldn't be something that would truly incriminate him, for Floyd would have told her if that was true. Whatever had happened all those years ago in America, Audrey decided she would never know.

The Pinkerton family didn't hear from Ziggy until a few more weeks had passed, when the post gave them the following letter.

_Hello, my friends!_

_My album has been finished now- those recording sessions sure were a doozy! At least it means now that I can go back to playing clubs, though my manager says it would be better to wait until I go on tour to play new material. I've gotten a strong fanbase here in London, and it's all thanks to your advice, Floyd. I couldn't have done this without you! And I thank both of you for saving me from the wreckage of my craft. I would have been very lost if you hadn't found me and taken you in._

_We did a photoshoot or two, which I enjoyed, and here's what we came up with for the cover of the album:_

The image attached showed a photo of Ziggy, with bleached-blond hair, standing on a sidewalk in front of a phone booth. White text over the image proclaimed, "THE RISE OF ZIGGY STARDUST AND THE SIDERS FROM MARS."

_The Spiders From Mars are what I call my backing band. I came up with the name on a whim- the Mars part is for obvious reasons, and I guess I just like Spiders! We're set to release another single from the album- 'Changes.' I'm not quite sure why that one's so popular, but fans keep requesting it at concerts._

_I do hope you come out to see me play as soon as my tour starts! We'll be hitting Bath on the tour, because I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you again. All three of you have helped me get to this position, and it means a lot to me. I'll be sure to secure special floor seats for your show! _

_Well, that's all for now. Oh, but wait, I almost forgot- my manager has been wondering about you ever since you took off so abruptly the night you came here, Floyd. He wants to speak to you soon. I wouldn't give him your address, though. I feel you have a good reason to keep away from him, and I don't blame you- he can be a nasty man. But do try to meet him at the show in Bath, for his sake. He seems very keen on talking to you._

_Love and kisses,_

_Ziggy_

"I'm going to that concert," Audrey said when Floyd set the letter down.

"It's a family affair. We're all going to the concert," he replied.

As soon as she could, Audrey bought Ziggy's new album and took it home so she and the rest of her family could listen to it. What they heard was amazing and delightful. Eva danced to most of the music, while Floyd analyzed every piece of it and Audrey relaxed. When the album was over Eva begged for Audrey to play it again. She did, and soon Eva was singing happily along to 'Starman.'

"He is very, very good," Audrey said, giggling a bit like a young girl. Floyd stared at her before cracking a smile.

"He is very good, love. But you know he is so much better live."

The time finally came for Ziggy's tour to reach Bath. He sent concert tickets in advance to the Pinkertons, who received them gladly. In the space of time between buying the album and the concert, the family had become fairly well-acquainted with Ziggy's music. Eva was undoubtedly Ziggy's biggest fan, singing his songs around the house all the time. Floyd prepared himself for the big meeting with Ziggy's manager by practicing breathing exercises, a trick he had learned from Audrey, and picking out the most innocuous clothes to wear.

_Hopefully I haven't been remembered as "that rock star who went crazy and ordered his fans to kill each other at that concert in America," _Floyd thought grimly as he looked as himself in the mirror.

Ziggy's "floor seats" were the spot on the ground closest to the stage. Audrey spread out the picnic blanket, and the family sat down in the sun, waiting for the show to start. Floyd closed his eyes, trying to stop the terror rising up inside him. It was only Ziggy- he shouldn't be feeling so frightened. Audrey silently laid her hand on Floyd's back and glanced around at the stands of the outdoor arena. She was impressed with the turnout of people. The Sgt. Pepper concert was nothing compared to this. Every seat was filled in the stands, and the grassy ground was blanketed with people. Every face was turned expectantly towards the stage, and occasionally a chorus of voices would take up the chant of "Ziggy, Ziggy, Ziggy!"

Floyd, with his eyes closed, heard rather than saw the moment when Ziggy appeared. The fans roared so loudly that Ziggy's voice could barely be heard over them as he introduced the song. A second later, the band was playing 'Changes,' and Floyd had his eyes open again, staring with shock at Ziggy's new look.

Ziggy had transformed from the boy wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt, with black hair falling in his eyes. Now his hair was bright red, slightly spiky, and combed back, and he wore a glittery silver costume reminiscent of his spacesuit. He stood up now and smiled and winked at the audience as he sang. And the audience responded right back by screaming their brains out. Seeing their rapturous faces, Floyd felt a pang strike through his body. _I shouldn't be here._

After playing a few standard tunes from his album, which got just as noisy responses as the 'Changes,' Ziggy introduced the next song by saying, "Ah- this is a new one that I wrote about an event that happened a while ago. I've never played this one before, but it seemed right to debut it here." He searched the crowd with his eyes. "Some very special friends of mine are here tonight. They're the ones who helped me get this far."

Floyd closed his eyes again as a wave of sickness passed through him. Audrey took his hand quickly and gave it a squeeze.

"This one's for the Pinkertons," Ziggy finished, sitting down on the edge of the stage and settling his acoustic guitar by his side.

"_The Children of the summer's end_

"_Gathered in the dampened grass_

"_We played Our songs and felt the London sky_

"_Resting in our hands_

"_It was God's land_

"_It was ragged and naïve_

"_It was Heaven."_

The song was simple, but at the same time just as powerful and breathtaking as any of Ziggy's other songs. The music swelled and swelled until it reached a climax, one lyric chanted over and over.

"_The Sun Machine is coming down, and we're gonna have a party. Ah-ah-ah. The Sun Machine is coming down, and we're gonna have a party…"_

Although Ziggy had stated that he'd never before played the song, the audience quickly took up the chant, singing that final line with such gusto, such desperation, that it seemed to be the only thing they had in life to hold on to. Floyd stayed silent, afraid that somehow, out of all the blending voices, his would be heard and recognized. Audrey closed her eyes and, rocking her head back and forth, looked like the most beautiful woman in the world. Eva started singing along too, coming in only on the "ah-ah-ah's." Finally Ziggy stopped the song and let the audience continue, smiling away under the spotlight. He stood up, stepped back, and the arena let fill with the sound of voices chanting together as one.

Eventually the entire band dropped out, and the arena was bare, singing a capella. Then Ziggy triumphantly led them back in with a cry of, "_The Sun Machine is coming down, and we're gonna have a party! Ah-ah-ah! The Sun Machine is coming down, and we're gonna have a party! Ah-ah-ah! The Sun Machine is coming down, and we're gonna… have a… party!" _He drew out the last word for as long as his breath could hold, and then fell panting against the microphone. Screams rose up, happy screams, screams of love and adoration from the fans. Audrey stood up and clapped until her arms were sore.

After what seemed like ages, the first thing Ziggy said when the applause was over was, "I should have saved that one for the end, then! You buggers pick up quickly!" Laughter filled the arena, and one person in the front row shouted, "What do you call that one, Ziggy?!"

"I call it… 'Memory of a Free Festival,'" he said, strumming the guitar a bit. Cheers filled the air again, but Floyd was unable to join them. He simply stared at Ziggy, amazed at, in awe of, and a bit worried about the power Ziggy had held over him and all the rest of the fans. And to his surprise, he wanted to hear more and more music.

"If you've bought my album, which I'm sure all of you have, I believe you'll know this next song very well," Ziggy proclaimed. "This is 'Five Years.'"

It was all over much too soon. Ziggy had ended the show earlier than usual, not wanting to exhaust his repertoire, and then came back out for an encore of all the songs he hadn't played. He closed the concert with the same song that had closed the first concert he'd ever seen- A Day In The Life by Sgt. Pepper. Once it was over, many people were too rattled by the neverending piano chord to notice that Ziggy had left the stage. Then the applause and cheers started up, and didn't stop for hours. Floyd, Audrey, and Eva left the fans baying for more and traveled backstage to meet Ziggy, their ears ringing.

Audrey had now learned that Ziggy's concerts were not friendly for Eva. Besides the loud sound, up close to the stage, there had also been many couples who'd decided to shag during certain numbers, lying together on their picnic blankets, and of course the inevitable stoners. Ziggy had seen them from the stage and called "Hey, this is a family show! Tone it down, please!" at one point, but it hadn't stopped the zealous lovers. Audrey was afraid of taking Eva to another show after that, for fear that she might notice what was going on around her. But she knew that Eva wouldn't stop begging for another show.

The Pinkerton family was identified backstage and whisked into Ziggy's dressing room. Inside sat Ziggy in all his glory, wiping makeup off his face. He caught sight of the Pinkertons in the mirror and turned, his face bursting into a wide smile. "Floyd! Audrey! And little Eva! You're here!"

"I'm not little," Eva pouted, but Ziggy only laughed and hugged her. He then took turns giving Floyd and Audrey hugs as well. "So glad you could make it. What did you think of my show?"

"It was lovely. Just as great as the first time, Ziggy," Audrey told him. She sat down as chairs were brought up by stray attendants, settling Eva in her lap. Floyd remained standing, hovering over his wife and child with an anxious glimmer in his eye.

"So tell me- what did you do to your hair?" Audrey continued, laughing a bit. Ziggy pulled up the chair from his dressing table and sat down, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "I bleached it and then dyed it. I thought it would look more striking beneath the stagelights."

"You were right about that," Floyd said, shaking his head. _As if you need another gimmick. _

Ziggy looked up at him. "Did you enjoy the show, Floyd?"

Floyd was about to say he wasn't really sure, but at that moment the door opened and in came Ziggy's manager, followed by an attendant. He didn't look surprised to see that Ziggy had company. "Hello! You must be the Pinkertons, eh?" He made a beeline for Floyd and shook hands, staring at him greedily. Floyd shifted positions, glancing nervously at Audrey, whom the manager didn't bother shaking hands with. He had eyes only for the ex-rock star.

"Yes, that's us," Floyd said, guardedly. "Now what do you want?"

The manager crossed his arms and leaned in to Floyd's ear. "Not here," he murmured. Understanding, Floyd quickly said goodbye to Ziggy and his family and followed the manager back into the hall.

Once out, the manager started to speak, but Floyd interrupted him. "What's your name, sir?"

"My name is Cyrus," the manager said. "If you must know. What's more important is that I know your name. Pink Floyd, isn't it?"

Floyd, fighting a sudden wave of pain, managed to say, "No, that was my stage name, sir."

"I know," Cyrus said. "But it's what the public knew you as. I'd never expected to meet you. I must say, it's quite an honor."

"Oh, shut up," Floyd blurted suddenly. Then he backtracked- "I'm sorry, sir, that was impolite."

But Cyrus was laughing. "You fit the description, right down to the bad temper!" He laughed again. Floyd backed away from him, unable to stand the sound. "Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

Cyrus leaned in and gripped Floyd's shoulder. "I know who you are, Floyd. There's no hiding it. The public has talked about you since the day you left them… talking about that stunt you pulled at that concert in America-" Floyd went white- "and speculating on what could have happened to you. Sure, after a year or so it didn't matter, but it was a matter of great interest among the inner circles of the music business. We all knew you'd quit your job- we just didn't know why, or how, or what had happened to you. And now, by some twist of fate, I know."

Seeing Floyd's ashen, pallid face and feeling how he was shaking, Cyrus let go of the man. Floyd passed a hand along his face, reminding himself to take deep breaths. _  
Deep breaths, deep breaths…_

"So you know about the concert," he stated, trying to pull himself together, to stand up to Ziggy's manager.

"Sure, everyone knows about your last concert. The way you went completely bonkers onstage. I've talked to your old manager personally, and he was very sorry to have lost you."

"What's that got to do with it?" Floyd asked. Cyrus said nothing. "I am now the only man in the world to know the whereabouts of the former rock star Pink Floyd. Ziggy knows it, but he's too stupid to put two and two together. He's nuts, absolutely nutters, you know? He thinks he's from Mars! At least it gets good press coverage."

"You were saying?" Floyd prompted him, though he was glad to have the topic of conversation taken away from him for a moment.

"Oh, I was saying…" Cyrus rubbed his tie with two fingers and stared Floyd directly in the eye. "About press coverage. I want to make a proposition to you."

"If it has anything to do with coming out of retirement, I'm not buying it," Floyd said immediately.

"Oh, but Floyd!" Cyrus broke out laughing again. "That's the only reason I could possibly want you! After the tour of the U.K. ends, we're going to help Ziggy break America. The public has responded very well to his music over here, but we're afraid that he may be a little too eccentric for audiences across the pond. However, the reason fans have responded so favorably has to do with the message his music sends. Ziggy is what the world needs right now- a ray of hope, a promise that we can survive these dark days. Which is why it's so important for us to get through to those Americans. And the only way I can think of to help this along is if we got another big name rock star to headline with him."

Floyd struggled to control his breathing. "You want me to go on tour with Ziggy?"

"That's precisely what I want," Cyrus said. "I know you're more of a… family man now. It must be hard for you to get back into show business after six years of seclusion. But I'll tell you that it will be much, much better this way if you accept."

"How can anything be worse than accepting?" Floyd questioned, entirely serious. Cyrus gave an infuriating shrug and lowered his voice.

"Oh, let's say that since I happen to be the only person alive who knows where Pink Floyd is and why it's important, I let the information slip to the public. And then you'll have the media ravaging your house looking for the mystical ex-rocker."

Floyd stared blankly, shocked.

"Trust me, accepting this offer is the least you could do," Cyrus finished. He stepped back, away from Floyd. "Should I let you think on it first?"

"No- I mean, yes…" Floyd was unable to make a snap decision. He was unable to make _any _decision on his own, in fact. _I want Audrey. _She could help him make up his mind.

Well, he couldn't get her now. Floyd began to work out the process in his head. On one hand, Floyd could accept Cyrus's offer and come out of retirement to draw the public to see Ziggy's shows. Pros- Ziggy would make it big in America. Cons- Floyd would be away from Audrey and Eva for a long time, and he wasn't sure he could take that. He would be doing something he hadn't done for years, and something that he had always hated doing anyway. Sure, he'd get to hang out with his friend Ziggy, but he would miss his wife and child more. And to be around that decadent lifestyle again was something that would drive Floyd insane if ever he had to. Lastly, the audience might be more impressed with the return of Pink Floyd to even remember Ziggy's act the following day.

So then there was the second option- to have Cyrus leak the confidential information of where the Pinkertons were hiding. Pros- absolutely none at all. Cons- the media would bother Floyd and his family day and night, and Floyd would get arrested for his actions at the American concert… It was clear now what he had to do. Even if he despised the mere thought of performing, it was nothing compared to the pain and torture he would have to go through if Cyrus sicced the press on his family.

Floyd sighed and looked at Cyrus again, who was waiting eagerly. "Okay. I'll do it. I'll perform on tour with Ziggy. But only because I want my friend to get popular in America." Eyeing Cyrus unblinkingly, Floyd uttered a five-word sentence that he hoped would empower him, even if it wasn't true. "_Your threats don't scare me."_

Cyrus blinked, nonchalant. "So it's settled! Thank you for compromising, Floyd. I'll be sure to call you and work out the plan, if you'll just give me your number…"

"We don't have a telephone," Floyd snapped harshly, turning away. "I'm sure you know where I live, though. Write me a letter and we'll talk about it."

Cyrus's small, beady eyes blinked again, rapidly. Under the lights of the hall, sweat was beading on his forehead. "No, tell you what, I'll stay here in Bath for a few days. We'll meet up wherever you want."

"We could meet at my house, though," Floyd said, sizing Cyrus up. Suddenly he had a feeling that one of them had made a terrible blunder.

"No. I would prefer it if we met in the town," Cyrus said.

"But then people would see me," Floyd pointed out.

"Well, you've got to get over your fear sometime," scoffed Cyrus. He sounded a bit too much like Audrey for Floyd's comfort.

And then it hit him. "You don't even know my address, do you?"

Cyrus said nothing for a few moments before saying, "Look, I'll give you an address you can reach me at, and we'll meet up there."

But Floyd was determined to get to the bottom of it. "That's fine, but you don't really know my address! You were just bluffing when you said you'd tell the press where I lived." He couldn't believe he'd been so blind. The information about his location was highly classified in the registry office. No one could ever find out where he lived.

"I never said anything about where you live, Floyd," Cyrus mocked. "Just where you _are. _Now, we've made a deal. Let's follow through on it, or I will tell the press that you are currently living in Bath."

Floyd, anguish welling up inside of him, shook hands with the hateful man. Then Cyrus wrote his address down on a slip of paper and handed it to Floyd. Floyd wished he'd never laid eyes on the manager, never seen Ziggy in concert, never met Ziggy at all…

He reentered the dressing room and heard Audrey talking to Ziggy.

"When did you write 'Memory of a Free Festival?' I would assume it was written recently, because it wasn't on your album, but you said it was about an event that happened in your life… Did you write about the concert we saw?"

"No," Ziggy said. "I wrote that song about an event that happened on Mars some years ago. The line about Venusians was something that actually happened." He had Eva on his lap and was playing a hand game with her as he spoke. "They were lovely people, but I haven't seen them since the festival. Of course I can't tell if their planet has died or not, because there's so much sulfur in the atmosphere already. Ah well… It was a great day, that festival."

"There was a lyric about London, though," Audrey said.

"Oh, I didn't want to write about the Martian sky," Ziggy said. "Don't want to alienate the listeners too much. Welcome back, Floyd!"

Floyd grunted a hello and went straight to Audrey. As she threaded her fingers through his, she could feel a cold sweat on his hands. Looking into Floyd's eyes revealed that all was not well. Audrey wordlessly asked Floyd what was wrong, and he wordlessly responded that he'd tell her about it later.

"What did Cyrus want?" Ziggy asked, looking expectantly towards Floyd.

He breathed in. "Ziggy… we're headlining a tour together. We're going to America."

Ziggy was confused. "What? But you're not a musician!"

"Yes he was, m'dear boy," Cyrus began, but Floyd quickly jumped in. "I mean… we're not exactly headlining. Cyrus just read some of my songs and thought that I was good enough to open for you. I guess you could call this my big break." The lie was out of his mouth before he had time to think it over.

"Really? That's groovy!" Ziggy exclaimed. He jumped up and rushed to give Floyd a hug. "I'm so happy for you!"

"I'm rather nervous, actually," Floyd said, and that was true- his heart was beating like a rabbit's at the mere thought of singing onstage again.

Ziggy laughed. "Don't worry, it happens to the best of us. Keeps me on edge." He pulled away from Floyd. "This is going to be so exciting!"

"Ahem, Ziggy… if I may have a word," Cyrus said. He beckoned with his finger. Floyd knew instantly that he was about to spill his carefully guarded secret. He leapt from his seat. "Wait a minute! Ziggy, you stay right where you are. I have to talk with Cyrus." They moved into a new corner of the room, where Ziggy stared after them, more perplexed than ever.

"Listen to me," Floyd hissed, so angry that he was nearly seeing red. "I'll only perform on this tour under one condition. That you don't reveal my old profession to Ziggy, and that you don't let the audience know it either! You can call me Pink Floyd and dress me up in my old costumes, but you can't herald this tour as the return of a lost rocker! I'll not comply to your terms unless you agree with mine."

"They'll know it's you anyway," Cyrus said. "How can you keep such a big secret hidden for so long?"

"I don't know!" Floyd wanted to throw his hands in the air. How had he gotten into this mess? "I just don't want Ziggy to know about it."

"He won't. I'll make sure of that." Cyrus batted his eyes. "I'll agree to your terms."

"Good. Thank you." Floyd turned back to his family, trying to calm down. Audrey had been watching him for this entire time, and now she stood up and motioned for Eva. "Ziggy, it's time we head home. It's past Eva's bedtime."

"I'm not tired," Eva whimpered, her eyes shut tight. Audrey sighed and took her daughter into her arms. "Floyd? Are you coming?"

"Yes," he murmured, walking over. "Goodnight, Ziggy."

"Goodnight, all!" Ziggy smiled as the Pinkertons walked out the door. Floyd couldn't escape fast enough.

All through the car ride and the rest of the night, Audrey and Floyd discussed what was going to happen next. Floyd expressed his concerns for the tour, and Audrey tried to offer support.

"Audrey, he wants me to perform onstage. And I've _never _enjoyed that. Soon Ziggy is going to find out that I was a rock star once, and… it just means so much to me that he doesn't find out. I don't know why. I guess I've just been longing for someone who doesn't judge me by how I used to be- like Eva, for instance. And I can't let her or Ziggy find out. I don't want to ruin their innocence."

Floyd sank back along the bed, and Audrey rubbed her hand soothingly along his ribs.

"I don't know how I'm going to do this, Audrey! I can't sing those old songs. They're not me anymore. I think I would die if I had to do that again." Floyd rolled onto his side and cupped Audrey's face in his hands. "I mean that, Audrey."

She said nothing, only smoothing his brown hair back with her hand.

"And the reason I agreed to this is that Ziggy's manager blackmailed me by saying he'd reveal my location to the press if I didn't… only to find out that he doesn't even know our address. I was such a fool to fall for that, Audrey! Such a damn fool. But if I hadn't agreed, the press would still be swarming Somerset…"

Audrey stilled the motion of her hand and looked into Floyd's eyes, her beautifully tragic face reflecting his worries and concerns. Her smooth lips parted.

"Floyd, please tell me. It's been far too long that you had this secret locked inside you. What did you do that ensures you can never go back into the public eye?"

Floyd went rigid, all thoughts fleeing from his mind but one word- _No! _His entire being shied away from the thought of telling Audrey. _She loves me now, but if I reveal what I did… she'll never look at me the same way again._

Audrey ran her fingers down the back of Floyd's neck. "Floyd, you're shaking."

He realized he was, and closed his eyes, trying to take deep breaths.

"Is it really that bad?" Audrey's voice murmured. "Every time I bring this up, you go all pale and still. It scares me out of my wits when you get like this, Floyd. Please." She brushed his eyelids, and they lifted, blinking at her.

"Talk to me," Audrey begged. "You're too silent and you know what that reminds me of."

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her. "Why should we bring up memories of the past? It will do us no good."

"Because I know that they're hurting you, Floyd, and the only way to stop that pain is to tell me about them."

Floyd shook his head methodically. "I- I can't, Audrey! If you ever knew…" He stopped and looked away. "I still don't know what happened to you back then, when you were in London. I still don't know who the man you cheated on me with was."

Audrey froze. Floyd has managed to touch the exact spot that she was hoping he could avoid.

"Floyd…" No words would come out but his name. Finally she spoke. "Floyd, I'll respect what you want. I won't bring this up again. I'm sorry I asked you at all."

Floyd nodded. "Thank you." He pressed himself into her, and Audrey couldn't keep from sighing quietly. Floyd would never get over his past if he kept it a secret like this, but at the same time it seemed to hurt him even more to tell. Audrey resolved that she would find out what Floyd's secret was, told in his own words, before she died. But death was coming in five years. Better late than never to know.

_They'd found him immobile in his room after a drug binge, curled up on the bed around the disconnected telephone. He remembered being dragged off and dressed and given more drugs that would counteract the ones he had taken and hopefully allow him to perform onstage. The house lights went down, the stagelights went up, a guitar was strapped onto him, and he was shoved in front of the microphone. He opened his mouth and found that every part of his body had gone numb. He couldn't move a muscle in his body. And yet, even though all he could do was stand under the spotlight with wide eyes and a pounding heart, the fans screamed through every song, not realizing that something was wrong with their rock star savior._

_It was like that again later, when he had gone to the farthest grips of insanity. _No more drugs, _his tired head had sounded, but soon that cry was replaced with _No more pain. _They'd dragged him out again, an infernal buzzing noise filling up his ears, and around him his flesh had appeared to be melting off, falling in gooey chunks around his feet. His soul had been at war with itself, the innocent memories of his childhood finally dying a slow, painful death. When he'd emerged from the chrysalis, he was as hard and cold as a piece of coal, and his uniform was black to match. He'd stepped onstage and from that moment everything around him had turned into death, worms, and hammers, hammers, HAMMER_

Floyd's eyes snapped open, a strangled scream choking in his throat. He slumped back down in bed, panting heavily, and checked to make sure he hadn't awoken Audrey. His wife lay in peaceful sleep beside him, and Floyd's heart stopped its frantic pace. He was okay. Audrey was okay. Everything else should have been okay. But it wasn't.

_I can't do this, _he realized, defeated. He couldn't keep such a load inside of him forever. Sitting up, Floyd drew his knees up to his chest and stared at his sleeping wife. "Audrey," he whispered. "Audrey, I did something awful when I was in America six years ago. I thought I was a dictator and ordered all my fans to kill each other. And- and they did. I saw it happen, Audrey. I saw them hurt innocent civilians and rape couples who were parked in cars outside. I saw them build a pedestal to put me on, and from there I ordered them to ravage the city. I caused the death of so many harmless people, all because I hated myself so much…"

He covered his face in his hands. "And that's why I can never, ever bring myself to leave this place. I may not have been charged for murder, but I know what I did. Everyone else in the world knows what I did. Except you, and Eva, and Ziggy…" Burning hot tears spilled over the rims of Floyd's eyes and soaked into his skin. He sobbed once, or rather choked back a sob, and took in a shaky breath before lifting his head to look at Audrey. She had barely stirred during the entire revelation, her chest rising and falling steadily with every deep breath. Floyd observed her beauty for a moment before lying back down and curling around her body, burying his wet face in her shoulder.

"I love you, Audrey," he whispered, and somewhere in his mind he heard her say- _I love you too, Floyd._


	8. Goodbye, Blue Sky

Chapter Seven: _Goodbye, Blue Sky_

Floyd met with Cyrus a few days later, when he had found time away from Ziggy's tour. They discussed when the American leg would begin and how Floyd's set was to be executed. Cyrus assured Floyd that he would have all instruments and equipment provided for. They decided that Floyd would open the show for Ziggy, playing a five-song set. It would buy show time for Ziggy, who had a small repertoire of music. Floyd would perform under the name Pink Floyd, but no allusions were to be made of his former identity. He promised to Cyrus that he would perform one of his old songs every night, but that would be it. And under all conditions, Ziggy was not to know about Floyd's past as a rock star.

Floyd still didn't know why he felt such a need to keep this a secret from Ziggy. He only knew that if Ziggy found out, he would never look at Floyd the same way again. He wouldn't be able to see past Floyd's fame and glory, and forget that he was a friend, a real human being like anyone else. Yet Floyd felt the need to warn Ziggy of the dangers of going on tour in America, so he wouldn't fall prey to the same factors that had destroyed Floyd all those years ago.

Back home, Floyd took time alone to read over his newer, unrecorded lyrics. There were about ten songs in all in his little black book, enough to fill an album. Most of them were written for Audrey, and a few were for Eva, but one or two were bleak, negative pieces written at a far darker time in Floyd's life- his moments of weakness, as they were.

_If you negotiate the minefield in the drive_

_And beat the dogs, and cheat the cold electronic eyes_

_And if you make it past the shotgun in the hall_

_Dial the combination, open the priest hole_

_And if I'm in I'll tell you what's behind THE WALL_

Floyd stroked the page, reading the inked words. There was more than enough material for his five-song set. _I'll try to perform everything at least once, _he decided. _Well, maybe not 'The Final Cut.'_

There was another song he'd written a while ago, another one that Audrey would be concerned about if she ever read or heard it. Floyd decided not to perform that one either.

_Sometimes_

_I open one eye_

_And I put out one hand just to touch your soft hair_

_To make sure in the darkness that you were still there_

_And I have to admit_

_I was just a little afraid…_

Floyd closed the notebook and replaced it in its hiding place in the sock drawer. He then opened the closet and rooted around behind clothing before finally unearthing a guitar case. Opening it up revealed a blue Fender Stratocaster, his stock instrument that he had played all the time onstage in the past. Floyd fingered the notes wryly, plucking out the riff to his biggest hit, "Another Brick In The Wall." The lyrics sprang vividly into his mind.

_We don't need no education_

_We don't need no thought control_

_No dark sarcasm in the classroom_

_Teacher, leave us kids alone_

_Hey! Teacher, leave us kids alone!_

The extreme torment that Floyd had gone through in public school was the sole reason why he wouldn't let Eva go there. He couldn't stand the thought of his daughter being beaten upon by sadistic teachers until she was angry enough to need a protest song like 'Another Brick…'

_All in all, it's just another brick in the wall_

_All in all, you're just another brick in the wall_

The lyrics to 'Another Brick' were just as relevant today as they had been in Floyd's childhood. He would be sure to perform this song on the tour, although it was a dead giveaway to his true identity. But he would perform it acoustically, with just a guitar and his voice. That way the message would be much clearer than it would be otherwise, covered up by layers of guitar and bass and drums.

Floyd packed the guitar up and left the room, ready for whatever might come his way in America.

The day of departure had arrived. Floyd, Audrey, and Eva drove together to the airport to meet up with Ziggy's entourage. Floyd didn't talk much as he drove. His mind was occupied by making a checklist of things he had, or hoped he had. It helped take his thoughts away from the direction they would have gone in- away from thoughts of his family and the inevitable goodbye that was to come soon.

They pulled up in front of the building and Audrey helped Floyd unload his luggage. "Have you got everything?" she asked, peering into his eyes.

"Yes." The inevitable could no longer be delayed. Floyd pulled Audrey into his arms and kissed her deeply. "I love you."

"I love you too," she answered. "Come back to us safely."

"I will," Floyd promised, pulling away, and he felt his heart wrench a bit. Audrey then opened the side door to the car and Floyd found himself facing Eva.

"I love you," he said to her, giving her a hug through her car seat.

"I love you, Daddy," she replied. "When will you come back?"

Hearing her ask so plainly made Floyd want to jump back in the car and drive home. He forced himself to stay strong. "I don't know, love. A month or two, maybe."

Eva's eyes filled with tears. "Imiss you," she whispered.

Floyd was having a hard time keeping it together after that. "I know you will," he said. "But I'll only be gone for a little while. You can count the days until I get back, Eva." He kissed her cheek. "Goodbye, love."

"No," she whispered, crying now. "Don't go."

"I have to, Eva. Ziggy and I are going to perform music together, and we'll have a lot of stories to tell when we get back." Floyd backed away from the car. "Don't feel sad. You'll hardly notice I'm gone."

"No!" Eva shouted as Floyd closed the door behind him. He told himself not to look back, even though he could hear Eva wailing through the door. Audrey gave Floyd one last hug and kiss and then they exchanged parting words- "Goodbye." "Goodbye." Floyd hoisted his belongings onto his back and walked off towards the main entrance.

The first person from Ziggy's entourage that Floyd saw was Cyrus, who came up to him and smiled in a mistrustful way. "Hello, Pink Floyd. Are you ready to go?"

"I have everything with me," Floyd said, indicating the luggage on his back. He slid them off, and Cyrus patted Floyd's back uncomfortably. "Alright, let's get going! You and Ziggy are sitting together on the plane."

The plane was the average everyday plane, reserved for Ziggy's entire entourage (which didn't include many people, to be honest). Floyd approached the cluster of people awkwardly, feeling out of place. He spotted a certain someone's signature red hair in the crowd, and walked over. "Hello, Ziggy!"

"Hello, Floyd!" Ziggy gasped happily, hugging his friend. "I'm so glad you're here!"

"I'm glad to be here," Floyd lied. "Have you ever been on a plane before?"

"No," Ziggy said. "But I've been on a spacecraft." He laughed. "How've you been?"

The two talked away, mainly Ziggy chattering about his new life while Floyd gaped at how much he had changed. From the quiet, secretive astronaut who had landed in their backyard to this confident, overexcited musician who had charmed them with his command of the stage, Ziggy was drastically different. Floyd was a bit unsettled by that. He didn't like this sign of susceptibility. At least Ziggy hadn't been approached by any groupies yet…

"Time to board the plane!" someone cried at last, and each member of the entourage picked up their personal items and surged in a wave towards the exit. Floyd's ticket told him that he was sitting in the very first row of seats, on the right side. Ziggy had the window seat.

As the passengers buckled in and were instructed on what to do in case of a crash, Ziggy asked Floyd, "Have you ever been to America before?"

"Yes," Floyd grimaced. "I didn't like it there at all."

"Oh. That's too bad, then. Cyrus has been telling me all about it. I think I'm really going to love it there!" Ziggy sighed and stared out the window, petting his hair.

"It's not loveable, believe me," Floyd said. "There are so many people, and they put you in cars wherever you go and make you follow their agenda. Everywhere you look, there's women who are dying to have sex with you. And they're in love with money."

He fell silent, suddenly realizing he'd been talking about his own experiences as rock star. Ziggy grunted beside him.

"Hm, that doesn't sound too bad. Especially the part about women." He winked at Floyd, and Floyd felt the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Ziggy had to understand that America was a dangerous place! He had to know what he was getting himself into.

As the plane prepared for liftoff, Ziggy asked Floyd, "Why aren't Audrey and Eva coming along?"

"There was no room for them on the tour," Floyd answered. "So Cyrus said, and so I believe. I'll miss them terribly though."

"Mm." Ziggy nodded, looking out the window. "I know how you feel. I had to leave my family behind when I went into space."

After a while of excruciating waiting, the plane had finally taken to the skies. Ziggy was impressed with its aerodynamics. He watched raptly as the plane gained altitude, soaring into the clouds, before turning to Floyd and saying, "I've been working on a new song recently, about space travel."

"Oh? Have you got any ideas for the music yet?"

"No, just the lyrics. It's about an astronaut who dies in space. Very depressing." Ziggy sat back in his seat. "I was wondering if you could help me write some lyrics? I'm stuck."

"Sure, Ziggy." They worked on music for much of the ride, and Floyd gradually forgot about the family he had left behind in England.

They were both asleep when the _bump _happened. Asleep and flying over the ocean. Floyd was jolted awake to find absolute panic descending on the plane.

"The engine died! We're falling out of the sky!" someone shouted. Floyd immediately shook Ziggy awake. "Wh- what's happening?" he mumbled blearily.

"The plane's in trouble! We're crashing!" Floyd screamed. His heart was pounding in his ears, his mind ringing with the words _I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die die die _

Ziggy stood up. "I can pilot the plane! We'll be safe!"

"No!" Floyd yelled. "The engine is broken!" The plane was picking up speed as gravity took hold of it, plummeting towards the water like a piece of scrap metal. The pilot yelled to assume the brace position, and Floyd and Ziggy returned to their seats. Floyd closed his eyes- so this was the end. He hadn't realized that when he'd said goodbye to Eva and Audrey, it would be goodbye forever.

_I love you, _he thought towards them, his brain empty of things to say. Beside him, Floyd felt Ziggy shaking- the first time he had ever shown fear around him. Floyd reached out and took Ziggy's hand, locking them together.

"I'm sorry," Ziggy whispered. "The last of my kind… died in a plane crash on Earth." He closed his eyes, and Floyd did too as they waited for the impact.

_BAM!_

He woke up with salt stinging his eyes.

_Where am I?_

His entire body was surrounded by water.

_WHERE AM I?!_

And someone's arms were wrapped around him.

Floyd struggled, and the person tightened his grip. "Floyd, it's me! It's Ziggy."

"Ziggy!" Floyd gasped, turning to look at him. "Where are…" His questioned died as he glanced around. Water was all around him, churning in ocean waves.

"We're in the ocean," Ziggy answered unnecessarily. "The plane crashed and the impact broke the windows. I swam out the window and took you with me."

They contemplated this _deus ex machina _silently for a few moments.

"So the rest of the crew is dead?" Floyd asked.

Ziggy shrugged. "I guess so."

They were floating along in the endless sea, holding onto each other.

"That's terrible," Floyd whispered.

Ziggy shook his head. "No, what's terrible is that my guitar was in the plane. I'm never getting it back now."

Floyd stared disbelievingly at Ziggy. "How can you say that?! Your entire entourage has just been killed, and all you can think about is your guitar?!"

"The guitar was the only thing I loved on that plane. Well, that and you. I really don't care about the fate of my entourage." Ziggy looked away. "I'm used to death, Floyd. It doesn't bother me now."

Floyd said nothing, still unable to believe that someone could be so heartless. They continued to drift along.

"I see a shore off in the distance," Ziggy said eventually. "We're not that far from a landing place."

"It will take hours, if not days, for us to get there," Floyd said. "I don't think I can keep up my strength."

"But you must, Floyd. You must," Ziggy said solemnly. "I'm a Martian. I'm better off than you because I'm stronger. If you give up, which you musn't under any circumstance, I will carry you on to shore."

"Thank you, Ziggy," Floyd murmured, and they began to swim.

"Where was the plane headed to?" Floyd asked suddenly after an hour of swimming in silence. His muscles were sore and burning, and he was dying for a distraction.

"New York," Ziggy answered. "Apparently it's even bigger than London."

"Oh." Floyd said nothing, swimming on. He remembered New York City. "Maybe that's what the shore is."

After a few more hours of swimming through cold ocean water, Floyd knew that he wasn't going to be able to make it. His limbs felt like rubber, and his lungs were on fire. He began to lose hope and strength, waiting for the water to pull his head under into a blissful rest…

Ziggy tugged on Floyd's collar. "We've got to keep swimming!"

"No…" Floyd whispered, feeling himself sink.

"Don't say no to me, Floyd!" Ziggy jabbed him in the back. "I know it's hard. I'm exhausted too! But if we keep going we'll be safe. Just a few more hours…"

Floyd said nothing, his eyes closing. He surrendered to the fatigue, and Ziggy was holding a dead weight in his arms, pulling him under.

"Wake up!" he shouted. "Don't give up! Think of Audrey, Floyd! Think of Audrey and Eva!"

But the plea fell on deaf ears. Floyd was growing unconscious, and he heard Ziggy's words far off in the distance, distorted through a tunnel.

"You wouldn't want to die! They need you! You need to stay alive for your family!" Ziggy slapped Floyd hard across the face, scared stiff by the thought that if Floyd passed out entirely, he would have to be abandoned. Ziggy couldn't carry Floyd for such a long distance.

Floyd shook his head, rousing at the touch of Ziggy's palm. Ziggy slapped him again, panicking. "Hold onto me, Floyd! We're getting there, don't worry!"

"Ziggy…" Floyd murmured. "How much longer is it?"

"Not much farther," Ziggy lied. "Now swim!"

Floyd did as Ziggy told him to and swam, even though he was sure he was about to die. He was only able to concentrate on each breath pulled through and released from his lungs, each stroke made with his tired arms and legs.

"Ziggy…" Floyd panted breathlessly. "Sing to me."

Ziggy was still worried that Floyd might pass out again, but he opened his mouth and began to sing, also breathlessly. "_There's a starman, waiting in the sky…_"

It was another long series of hours, and the world was pitch black, when Floyd and Ziggy finally reached the shore.

Floyd was in a state of delirium. He couldn't think straight, didn't even have the power to listen to Ziggy sing 'Starman' anymore. He wasn't even able to find relief in the fact that they were out of the water, and Ziggy was pulling him onto the shore.

"We're alive," Ziggy breathed. "We made, it Floyd! We're in America… at least, I hope so."

Floyd tried to say something, but all that came out was water and salt that burned his throat as he coughed the ocean from his lungs. Then he fell back onto the ground, closing his eyes and drifting into a much-needed sleep as if someone had hit him over the head with a sledgehammer.

Ziggy, seeing Floyd fall prostrate, took a moment to examine his surroundings before joining him. Up ahead, many lights blazed in the distance. They were definitely near a city. Out over the water, more lights flew by- the rescue planes had finally been sent into action. Satisfied, or as satisfied as he was going to be for now, Ziggy curled up into a ball beside Floyd and whispered a prayer to himself- a sort of "thank God we're alive and ready to survive another day" thing. He then closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him.


	9. I'm Rael

Chapter Eight: _I'm Rael_

Floyd woke up the next morning with the sun beating down on him and salt sticking on his body. He sat up and blinked, forgetting momentarily where he was. Then it all came back- the tour, the plane crash, the swimming through miles of water…

Floyd glanced out over the water and saw that several miles out, a search had begun. Black specks in the sky- search and rescue planes- were swooping over the sea, looking for miraculous survivors amidst the wreckage. Sooner or later they would come to scan the shoreline.

_Well, at least I don't have to perform live anymore, _Floyd thought, his mind taking a dark but pleasant turn.

Beside Floyd, Ziggy was just barely stirring, his body turned into a ball of glittery silver and red. He twitched his fingers and shook his head as he roused, and Floyd watched him silently, as if in awe. Ziggy woke up gently, delicately, and yawned up at the sun, showing the pink flesh of his tongue. He swiped it around his mouth before promptly sitting up and blinking wide blue eyes. "Good morning, Floyd," he said sleepily. "Where are we?"

"America, I believe," Floyd answered. "Look over there." He pointed to the city lights that Ziggy had noticed the night before. Ziggy nodded at the sight. "Is that New York City?"

"We'll never know from this distance," Floyd said. "Come on, let's climb up that hill. It will make it easier for the search and rescue planes to see us, too." Together they stood up carefully and walked uphill, making footprints in the sand.

"Well, it's still too far to make out," was Ziggy's first proclamation as soon as they reached the top.

Floyd rolled his eyes at the obviousness. "I know that. We shouldn't move far from this spot, though, or they'll not find us." Ziggy took that as a cue to sit right back down, while Floyd scanned all directions around himself. _I wonder why there are no people around at this hour? _If Ziggy was right and they were near New York City, then why was everything so silent?

Suddenly a great rumbling came up from deep within the Earth. Ziggy jumped to his feet and stared downwards, then was thrown into Floyd's arms as the rumbling came again and persisted. Floyd was nearly knocked backwards by the force of the shaking. "Earthquake!" he yelled, and without knowing what to do, tossed himself to the ground and dragged Ziggy along with him. They cringed together as the vibrations grew unbearable, and the sound of cracks and crashes was heard.

Floyd, his eyes squeezed shut, had no idea what was going on, but Ziggy cracked one eye open and watched with shock as the lights of the city of ahead tumbled down, one by one, before dissolving into an odd purple haze that hung intoxicatingly in the air. Eventually the rumbling beneath their bodies stopped, with nothing to show for it but the disappearance of the entire city of New York. Ziggy was agape, and shook Floyd's shoulder. "Floyd! This purple mist just ate the whole city! _Look!"_

"What are you going on about, Ziggy?" Floyd groaned, sitting up, and then his eyes focused.

"The hell-?"

They stared silently at the misty remains of the city, and Floyd thought, _Not another strange occurrence. _So far he and Ziggy had been the sole survivors of a plane crash, and now they were the only ones around to witness the entire destruction of a city.

"Did anything like that ever happen on Mars?" Floyd whispered. "When there were five years left?"

"No," Ziggy whispered. "Not where I was living." He continued to stare quietly, and then blurted, "Floyd, look! There's a man out there!"

A figure was crouching a far ways down the beach, motionless. Without thinking to ask Floyd if he wanted to come, Ziggy raced down the beach to meet the person. Floyd followed close behind.

The man looked younger than both Ziggy and Floyd. He was clad in a grimy, formerly white T-shirt and faded blue jeans, with a pair of beat up rubber sneakers on his feet. His hair was black and sticking out in all directions, a case of serious bedhead, and his skin was a light tan color. As Ziggy and Floyd approached, the man whirled around, his hands poised as if to attack. His blue eyes glinted with a readiness to defend himself, and it was obvious from his face that he'd been in fights before. A small scar sat upon one cheek, and his eyes were heavily underlined with black circles.

"Hey," Ziggy addressed the boy cautiously, stopping before he got too close. He held up his hands. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The boy didn't answer immediately. He stayed posed in a fighting stance, unwilling to relax.

"We won't harm you," Floyd said. "We're strangers here. Where are you from?"

Slowly, the boy began to relax as the fight drained from his body. His muscles slackened. "I'm from here," he murmured in an American accent that contained flavors of some Hispanic country. "I'm from New York."

"Do you know why it was destroyed?" Ziggy asked.

"Or how?" Floyd added, incredulous.

The boy shook his head. "I don't know! I haven't been up here for a long time!" He stared back at the wreckage of New York, or rather the hole where it had once been, and swallowed hard.

_My home… destroyed, gone forever…_

Everything that he had held dear was in that city, which meant it was now swept away in the purple haze. It was in _it, _lost to the human world. Somehow, the World Below had decided to spare his miserable self. But it wasn't worth it when his entire home was gone… when the person who meant the most to him in his life was gone too…

Suddenly he snapped his head back and stared at the two newcomers, neither of which he'd seemed before. He hoped to God that this was all just a crazy dream, as he'd been hoping for the past hours. "Where's John?"

"Who?" Ziggy asked, confused. "I don't know anyone by that name."

"You have to! I know he's with you!" He leapt to his feet and stalked menacingly towards the two men. "What did you do to him?"

Floyd got right to the point- "Look, I don't know who you're talking about, but we haven't seen anyone but you since we got here!"

He stopped in his pace towards them and shook his muddled head. Everything was blurring together into one, and it was so confusing… and he was so tired, and sure that this was all just a terrible nightmare.

"I want him back," he whispered.

"Who?" Ziggy asked again.

"My brother… John…"

Where was John?

And deep within him, he felt an alarming sort of answer.

_He's in me._

_I am he and he is me and we are all the same._

He lurched backwards as the images flooded his brain. This wasn't a dream. He and John had become one. John was him, and he was John, and it had always been that way, forever and ever.

When the boy didn't say anything more, Ziggy asked, "What's your name?"

He gathered his wits and pushed the growing fear away, far away, to give an easy answer. "I'm Rael."

_I'm real._

The two newcomers didn't sound anything like anyone he'd ever met in New York before, and they didn't look familiar either.

The taller one was wiry, though he still looked strong, and had tufts of brown hair surrounding his mouth. The hair on his head looked fluffy and brown to match, and his eyes were watery and brown as well, to top it off. He stared at Rael carefully, as if observing an insect or a cell under a microscope. He didn't look very sociable. His name was Floyd Pinkerton.

The second man was, Rael could tell, a lot more friendly. He bore an unusual appearance- unnaturally pale skin, bright red hair standing straight up, a lightning bolt painted over one eye, a glittery silver uniform, and clean shaven. He looked younger than Floyd, and therefore more inviting. He went by the name of Ziggy Stardust.

Ziggy claimed to be a musician, while Floyd said he was just friends with him. They told Rael that their plane had crashed in the middle of an ocean and that they were the only survivors. After everything Rael had been through in the last day, he accepted the story with open arms. It was nothing compared to his tale.

"How did you get here, Rael?" Floyd asked as the trio walked further along the top of the hill to survey the damage. "Where's your family?"

"I don't have a family," Rael answered, hoping he sounded tough as nails. "I've been living on my own for… about five years now." He expected to impress the men, but all he got was a surprised "Five years?" from Ziggy and an "I'm sorry," from Floyd.

Rael shrugged off the apology. They didn't need to pity him! He was in no mood for their supposed sympathy. Even though just looking back on what wasn't left of New York was breaking his hairless heart.

"How did you get here, though?" Floyd asked. "What were you doing so far from the city?"

Rael sighed. "I could tell you, but you'd never believe it."

"That's all right," Ziggy said. "You'd never believe my story either."

"What is your story?" Rael questioned.

Ziggy wagged his finger. "That I won't tell you until you tell yours."

Rael rolled his eyes, annoyed that he'd fallen into Ziggy's trap. He searched his mind, looking backwards for the right words to use. _Start from the very beginning. Start with the wall._

Finally it all came tumbling out of his mouth. "So I was just walking along the street when this big cloud comes down. It becomes solid, like a screen showing pictures of what existed around it before on the back side of it. Like a movie screen, you know? And I was walking along seeing this wall closing up on behind me, me on the wall…"

A long time later:

"…I then ate what was left of their bodies. They tasted kind of like garlic. And this turned me into a horrible lumpy humpy bumpy species of a man, with all this slime all over me and pointed ears and gnashing teeth. It was disgusting, but I found John there among those Slippermen."

Ziggy and Floyd had long since suspended their disbelief, albeit it was a struggle to keep it in the air. As Rael continued to spout off his story, Floyd nudged Ziggy and whispered in his ear, "You asked for it."

"The only way of getting rid of all those horrible lumps of ours, John told me, was the cutting off of the sexual organ," Rael continued, unaware of his company's discomfort. "So you see, my, er, sexual organ and my brother John's were placed into fully sterilized yellow plastic tubes by the notorious Doktor Dyper, reformed sniper, with a decent fee and guaranteed to remove our very own windscreen wipers. He really gave me the creeps."

"What?!" Ziggy blurted suddenly. "You- you were…" He couldn't bring himself to say the word _castrated._

"Yeah," Rael answered. "Man, was I scared, but we got out all right. I'll show you-" He began tugging at the zipper on his jeans.

"Em, I think that's enough about that," Floyd said quickly. "How did you get out?"

"Well, then I heard a flutter in the winds of the wings because a huge black bird called 'raven' swooped down, grabbed the yellow tube in its beak and hurtled off, flying away with the plastic tube. Christ!" Rael's voice grew desperate, as if he was reliving the moment. "I asked John to come with me and chase after the damn thing, but he was being a prick and refused to come. So I went off in hot pursuit, and just as I was about to catch the tail of the fucking bird, he dropped it- _it _with _it _in _it- _into a huge area of gushing water called the 'ravine.' And that isn't all, 'cause in the ravine, I got a message- 'Your brother is drowning here.' Oh dear! John was screaming in the water, and I had to go and save him." He paused for a breath.

"What did you do?" Floyd asked, curious to see where the story ended despite himself.

"What do you think I did? I saved him. Then he disappeared and he's inside me now." It felt odd to say those words when Rael could barely wrap his mind around the thing. "I ended up on the beach, and I saw New York turn to purple haze. So that's my story." He turned to Ziggy. "What's yours?"

"Oh, I'm from Mars and I landed here to save the planet from dying," Ziggy answered.

Rael burst out into laughter. "You're from _Mars?!" _He doubled over with the humor. "Haha! That's a good one! Of course no one would believe that!"

Ziggy and Floyd glanced at each other as if to say, _Is this kid for real?_

Then Rael straightened up and fixed his stare on Ziggy. "Is it true?"

"I should think so!" Ziggy blustered.

"Oh." Rael shrugged and wandered a little ways down the hill. "Well _I _don't believe it," he said at last.

While Rael was exploring on the slope, Ziggy and Floyd took the time to discuss what to do next. So far the only other human being they'd seen besides themselves was Rael, and the people in the planes had apparently given up hope in looking for survivors, for none of them were coming near the coast, only to fly over what had once been New York City. It was quickly agreed upon to keep Rael along, in hopes that they might find a psychiatrist somewhere to cure him of his delusions. Since there was no freshwater nearby, and no source of food, the three would have to keep going through America until they found some.

"It shouldn't take long," Floyd told Ziggy. "America is an enormous country. We're bound to find someone, or something, to help us."

Meanwhile down the slope, Rael was examining the place where New York had been from a distance. No matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to stop looking at it, and wondering- _was this all my fault? _Besides John and the members of his gang that he had briefly seen for a moment, there had been no one that he recognized underground. It was in Rael's belief that the entire ordeal underground had been designed specifically for him- and if the purple haze had been part of the ordeal, then certainly Rael had had something to do with the destruction of his hometown. And now he had nothing left. No gang- they were all dead, he supposed. No home- it had been swallowed up. No John- he was a part of Rael now, and though that should have made Rael feel more whole, it didn't.

_I want my brother back!_

The only company the world had offered him were these two unusual men, and he could tell that they both thought he was a wackjob.

A shiver traveled up Rael's spine, and his throat constricted- but he wouldn't allow himself to break down. Not here, where Ziggy and Floyd could see. He had to pull himself together, be strong. Show them that he was worthy of their trust, that he could take care of himself. Rael sucked in a deep breath and composed himself, turning back towards Ziggy and Floyd. There would be time to mourn for New York and the gang later.

To tell the truth, Rael was feeling uncomfortable around these two men. After the nightmare of the World Below, it should have been a relief to see normal people at last. But Rael had never liked company, especially not the company of strangers, and so was having a hard time adjusting. He cursed himself mentally as he walked back to them. Why couldn't he be like everyone else?

"We've made a decision, Rael," Floyd said as the boy wandered back.

"About what?" Rael asked, coming directly up to them and gazing unblinkingly.

Floyd was finding Rael's stare disconcerting. He wasn't blind or anything… "We're going to go along and travel until we can find water and food. You can come with us, if you like."

Rael considered his options. However tempting it was to ditch these men and work alone, he knew that working in groups, like with the gang, was a lot easier. Besides, how did he did he know he wouldn't get lonely? To stay it was, then.

"Okay, I'll come," Rael answered Floyd agreeably. "I'm fucking starving." A soft _pang _went through him as he remembered who the last person to say those words around him had been. "The last meal I had was the Lamia." Not to mention that he was also obscenely thirsty. If the sea hadn't been saltwater, Rael would have tried to drink it all up.

"So it's settled." Floyd turned to Ziggy, who said, "You should lead us, Floyd. You know more about this place than I do."

"No, I'll lead you!" Rael cried. "I'm the American after all!" _Well, half-American, but who really needs to know that?_

Floyd and Ziggy made way for Rael and hung behind him as the boy went into full scouting mode. They had a feeling it would be a long, long trip.


	10. Something's Changed

Chapter Nine: _Something's Changed_

_BREAKING NEWS_

_Rock star Ziggy Stardust and his entourage went missing in a plane crash today on the way to America._

_The plane was flying over the Atlantic Ocean when it appears that the engine malfunctioned. All bodies but two have been recovered- the body of Ziggy Stardust himself and of the passenger in the seat next to him. Manager Nick Cyrus was found among the wreckage, as well as Stardust's backing band, the Spiders From Mars. _

_Several search-and-rescue planes scanned the nearby coastline of New York, but nothing related to the accident was found. It is unlikely that the missing persons could have survived to swim to shore._

Audrey was in town when she saw the news. There it was, printed on paper at the stand. She grabbed the newspaper immediately and read the entire story. By the time she finished, her hands were shaking and her body was numb. She took Eva and drove back home, forgetting all her plans to go shopping.

The Pinkertons had never owned a television, and Floyd had removed their telephone a long time ago. There was nowhere to look for more information. Finally Audrey left Eva at home alone, telling her to be a good girl and wishing that Floyd's mother was still alive, and drove back out into town. She entered the nearest pub and leaned against the wall, straining to hear the television. The TV showed footage of the plane crash and of the search-and-rescuers pulling each body out of the cold ocean. Audrey felt the world going black. She didn't have time to catch herself before hitting the floor.

She awoke in the back room of the pub, with an employee waving alcohol under her nose. Audrey sat up and scrambled away from him, bursting into sobs. "What's wrong, miss?" the worker asked, and Audrey wept, "My husband was on the plane to America!" Not waiting for his reaction, she wobbled to her feet and rushed back out to her car, pounding rain mingling with the tears on her face.

Once at home, Audrey discovered that Eva had fallen asleep on the couch downstairs. She took the time to wash her face and straighten her hair and think of how she was going to break the news to her daughter. Finally Audrey sat down and woke Eva up. "Mummy?"

"It's me, dear," Audrey said soothingly. "Eva, I want you to be a big girl now and promise me that you won't get upset at what I'm going to tell you."

"What is it, Mum?" Eva asked, her dark eyes frightened.

Audrey took a deep breath and laid a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "It's about Ziggy and your father. There was a plane crash. They've gone missing."

Eva only stared in shocked silence at Audrey before bursting into tears. "DADDY! ZIGGY!"

_Floyd's father was killed in a plane crash too, _Audrey thought when she had calmed Eva enough to get her to sleep. _It took him years to feel normal again. I don't want that to happen to Eva._

Unlike Floyd, Eva had actually known her father, known him well enough to remember what he looked like and to miss him when he was gone. They'd gotten attached to each other. If Floyd truly was dead, it would be a hard blow to the family.

Audrey sipped some gin from her glass and thought about what she'd told Eva. "We have to pray for him-" those were the last words she had spoken before they'd gotten on their knees and prayed silently for God to bring Floyd, husband and father, back from the depths of the ocean. It was all they could do in such a situation. Audrey had tucked Eva into bed and stayed with her as she cried herself to sleep. Her heart had gone out to her daughter, and she ran downstairs to pour a glass of gin and drink it down before retiring to her bedroom, listening for Eva's breathing through the wall.

As Audrey curled up in bed on her side, tangling the sheets around her legs, she remembered the time when she had told Floyd she was pregnant. It was something she'd never been able to forget. After the reveal, both of them sitting on the couch, Audrey smiling and waiting for a reaction, Floyd had stared at her not in disbelief or joy, but in shock- complete shock.

"…Oh god," he finally whispered, and half-rose from his seat. "OH GOD." He jerked up, and Audrey grabbed him, her happiness melting away. "What's wrong, Floyd? Aren't you happy?"

"How?!" he choked at last, surrendering to Audrey's touch and sinking back down. "How are you pregnant?" He looked at her as if expecting a baby to pop out of her any moment.

"Well, em… we have been having a lot of sex," Audrey offered. "And we never use protection…"

"I didn't know you_ had_ to use protection," Floyd gasped, his face turning white. He hadn't even known sex was connected to getting pregnant, but he wasn't going to admit that to Audrey. She seemed confused enough as it was.

"Of course you do," Audrey said, trying to take Floyd's hand. He pulled away, his terrified eyes meeting hers.

"Audrey- I don't know what to do if we have a child!"

She started to speak, but Floyd shut her up.

"I can't be a father! I never had a father in the first place. I'd be terrible at this… You can't have the baby, Audrey! I- I…"

"Yes?" Audrey inquired, her eyes wide. Seeing that he was scaring her, Floyd slumped his head and looked down at his fingers.

"I'm not a good person," he said. "I just don't know what to do."

"Floyd," Audrey said softly. She took his head between her hands. "You may not be a good person, but I know one other thing you're not- a bad person. You'll make a wonderful father."

"But how?" Floyd asked. "I never had a role model. I don't know what fathers are supposed to do."

"They love their children very, very much," Audrey said, kissing Floyd on the lips. "I never had a father either. It will all work out right. Just you wait and see."

And it did all work out. After the expected nine months, as Audrey grew rounder and rounder and Floyd grew more and more apprehensive, Eva was born in the Somerset hospital. Floyd was there to watch, his mouth and eyes wide with shock as the doctor slid a blood-covered Eva out of Audrey's body. She was so limp, so still that he wondered if she was dead. And then the air rushed into her lungs and she let out a wail. That wail split Floyd and Audrey's ears and became the soundtrack of their following years with their new daughter. And as soon as Floyd held Eva in his arms, he cried too.

They had no one to share this new addition to their life with. No one but Floyd's mother. Audrey's mother had died when Audrey was in her 20's, and her father had left her as a child. Floyd invited his mother down to Somerset, and she spent two happy days there playing with her new granddaughter. Audrey was grateful for her, and they had long talks over cups of tea when Eva was asleep. She was arthritic and a little forgetful, but very cheerful and very much in love with her granddaughter. Floyd couldn't keep the smile off of his face when she was around.

She only saw Eva once, however. A week later, a message came through the post that Floyd's mother had suffered a terrible fall and was now in the hospital in critical condition. Floyd traveled to see her, and that night, called Audrey. With a one-week old daughter in her arms, Audrey took the train down to London to meet Floyd at the home of his mother, ready to comfort him.

He told Audrey that her last words had been "Thank you." To whom they were directed to, he had no idea. He assumed it was the doctor, and that his mother had been thanking him for all the work keeping her alive, but Audrey had other ideas. "She meant you, Floyd," she explained to her husband as they sat huddled into each other on the couch, Floyd's face in her hair. "She was thanking you for reconciling with her and admitting that you were wrong."

"You think so? You weren't there," Floyd had murmured, his voice raw.

"I know so." And the tears had come, and Audrey held Floyd all through the night until he was done crying and asleep, exhausted.

Audrey blinked and resurfaced from her memories to find that the tears were on her own cheeks now. She rocked herself back and forth like a child, reminding herself that she had to carry on. Eva needed her now, and this was not the time to disappear behind her wall as she had done when her mother died. Together, mother and daughter would get through this and wait for the day when Floyd returned.

"Do you think Audrey knows yet?"

These words came from Floyd's mouth and were directed at Ziggy as they sat around a campfire, staring into the flame. Shadows danced along their faces, and Ziggy shrugged. "I don't know, man. We're so far from civilization."

"But the plane didn't crash far away from civilization," Floyd pointed out.

Ziggy nodded. "True, very true." He leaned back on his hands and stared up at the night sky.

Rael had led Floyd and Ziggy through the outskirts of New York. They had all been disturbed to find that all the trees had fallen down- a recent development? When questioned, Rael said he had no idea about anything that went on outside of the central city. He had rarely seen trees at all in his lifetime- "only in Central Park."

The creepiest thing of all, though, was that there was no sign of human life. Absolutely no humans whatsoever, besides Rael, Ziggy, and Floyd. The towns they traveled through were ghost towns, abandoned. Finally Rael hadn't been able to take his hunger and thirst anymore and entered a drugstore. He went straight for the food, nabbing a bag of chips, and sat down on the floor to eat them, smiling. "This must be Heaven! We don't have to pay for anything!"

The trio had eaten and drank their fill, all the while expecting someone to come out and demand money. But no one appeared, and soon they were on their way again, their hunger quenched, ready to search for signs of life. When it began to get dark, Ziggy and Rael had collected dead wood under the order of Floyd and Rael had built a bonfire. They sat there now, watching the sky for signs of planes while Rael dozed off.

"This is the reason why I didn't want to go on tour," Floyd said. "I'd miss Audrey too much. We've barely been apart since the day… the day we met." Of course that wasn't true, but explaining to Ziggy how long they'd been together would involve bringing up memories that Floyd had been dwelling on too often recently.

"Wow," Ziggy said, his blue eyes fastened to the fire. "That's quite some devotion."

Floyd looked up at him. "Don't stare into the fire like that, you'll go blind."

"Eh." Ziggy blinked once. "I've already got one messed up eye. It's no big deal to harm the other."

Floyd sighed in mild exasperation. "Tell me, how did you hurt your eye like that?"

"Long story. Actually no, it's quite short. I'll give you three hints- girl, jealousy, fight."

"And he damaged your eye that badly?"

"Oops, I mean four hints- the last one is ring."

Floyd sucked in a breath. "That sounds painful."

"It was," Ziggy agreed, finally taking his gaze off the bonfire. His eyes strayed over to Rael, asleep a little ways away from the two men.

"I wonder how he got his scar?" he murmured.

Floyd shrugged, glancing over as well. "What do you make of his story?"

"Pretty much the same as what he made of mine," Ziggy sighed. "Even on another planet, that kind of story is ridiculous."

"You can say that again!" Floyd laughed.

Ziggy continued, "Still, I'd like to believe that at least some of it is true. Rael seems to believe it, anyway."

"Maybe he was on drugs," Floyd said. "Had a big hallucination and dreamed the whole thing up." He grimaced and looked away.

Rael, in the meantime, was sleeping calmly. He had retired as soon as the bonfire was built, realizing that he hadn't slept since he was put out by the Doktor Dyper, and was now utterly exhausted after everything he'd been through. He needed some time to himself to recharge his batteries. Without so much as a goodnight, Rael had crawled away from the bonfire and turned his back to Floyd and Ziggy, curling up into a ball, as he was wont to do when he slept. He had lain there for a few moments, trying not to think of New York and the tragedy that had befallen his gang. He'd been wrong about finding time to mourn for them- with Ziggy and Floyd here, it was impossible. If they heard him crying they would surely ask what was wrong, and Rael didn't want that, not in the least. He didn't want to appear weak to them. So for now, Rael left his tears unshed, wiping them away from his eyes with the palm of his hand, and pillowed his head on his arms, waiting for sleep to come. _Maybe things will look better in the morning. _Then again, it could go the opposite way. Rael would just have to wait and see.

It was only after a few minutes that he heard someone calling his name. And not just any someone- this voice was familiar, unmistakable to Rael's ears, a voice he would know anywhere, at any time. _Rael. Congratulations. _It was the voice of his brother John!

_John! _Rael cast out with his mind, trying to find the source of the voice. _John, are you there?_

_I'm here, _the voice answered. _Congratulations, Rael. You've passed the test._

_Why can't I see you? _Rael asked, wishing his mind would turn the light on. _What test?_

_The test that you have been taking unknowingly for a year now, _John answered. _I was a major part of it._

_Wait… does the World Below have anything to do with it? _Rael asked, the pieces slowly sliding into place.

He could hear the smile in John's voice. _The World Below has everything to do with it._

_What was it a test for, though? _Rael asked, and John responded with- _It was a test to make you into a man. It began when you were seventeen, and your heart was shaved- do you remember that?_

_How could I forget? _The pain had been nearly unbearable, something that Rael would remember for years to come. The way the razor had stripped his heart of hair, toughening him up until the heart was naked and glistening in the light of the moon outside.

_We rid you of emotions so that you would be able to prove yourself to the gang, _John's voice said. _Without their trust, you would have died. We made you resemble an extrovert so that you could survive in New York. _

Rael didn't quite know what the word "extrovert" meant, but he didn't interrupt so that John could finish the explanation.

_Rael, do you remember the morning after?_

Rael tried to remember, but it was all lost in a blur. All he could remember about the morning after was that John had been there- _John, John, John…_

_I was created then, _John explained. _You thought I was real, but I wasn't. That explains why none of the gang members interacted with me besides you. The World Below wanted you to have a brother figure so that you could learn responsibility. They put you through a strenuous test underground to see how much you had learned in the year I was there. When you saved my life in the rapids, it was deemed that you had learned your lesson and that you were ready for the world again. And so they gave you back the part of yourself that I had stolen- namely, my intelligence, my skill with words, my calm demeanor, and my physical strength. Now those qualities are yours, Rael. They are ours._

_What? _Rael was struggling to follow along. _So… you weren't real? You were never there all along? _He felt his heart straining, longing for John. A profound sense of loss overcame him.

_I was real to you, _John said. _But not to anyone else._

_But- John- I don't feel any different. I don't think I have your qualities after all._

_You do, _John assured him. _Well, I was kidding about the physical strength part, but every emotional quality of mine has been integrated into you now. You have proved yourself ready for these things._

Rael pondered this for a long while before asking, _John… will I ever _see _you again?_

_No, _John said, _and after tonight you won't hear from me again either. I can't speak to you as another being. We are the same, not two halves of one whole. We are one._

_But… but I'll miss you, _Rael whispered huskily, overwhelmed by a bittersweet feeling he had no name for.

_I'll still be here, _John said. _I am you. Just look at your reflection if you want to see me. _The voice was getting fainter in the distance now, and Rael cried out for it to stay. _John! Don't leave me…_

_I'm not leaving you, _he answered. _I am _joining _you._

_Then why does it hurt so much? _Rael begged. _Why does it feel like I'm losing you? _Losing John… the one thing that Rael had never been able to face in his lifetime. He hadn't even been able to say the words 'John' and 'die' in the same sentence.

_Because you're holding on too strongly, _John said. _You're thinking of me as another person. You need to let go and accept that I am a part of you, that I am you, in order for me to successfully integrate._

_But… I can't do that, _Rael thought sadly.

_Yes, you can. Yes, we can. From now on, you will only refer to yourself in the plural pronoun, so that you and others will know that we are one. _John's voice was even fainter now. _Goodbye, Rael- or should I say, Hello._

If Rael had been able to move, he would have fallen to his knees. _I love you, John, _he finally managed to call desperately as his brother left.

_I love you too, Rael, _John replied, his voice nearly inaudible. _I never told you myself, but I love you, and I truly do care. _With that, John was gone, and Rael was left utterly alone.

_Hello, John._

The silence around the campfire was broken with the sound of Rael's heavy breathing. Floyd glanced over at him. Rael was whimpering in his sleep, sounding desolate and heartbroken.

Ziggy noticed this too, and whispered, "Should we wake him up?"

Floyd shook his head. "He needs to sleep. Besides, if the nightmare's bad enough he'll wake up himself."

Ziggy nodded, still watching Rael, and then asked, "What about the bonfire?"

"I don't think we should waste our water by putting it out," Floyd said. "One of us needs to stay up and feed it."

"I'll do it," Ziggy volunteered, pulling his gaze off Rael and onto Floyd.

"Okay," Floyd said, nodding. "Wake me up when you want to rest." He lay down on the hard ground and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Ziggy."

"Goodnight, Floyd."


	11. A Way Out From The Endless Scene?

Chapter Ten: _A Way Out From The Endless Scene?_

The news about the disappearance of New York City came right on the wings of the news of the plane crash. Audrey found another shocking headliner in the newspaper waiting for her in town. She tried not to break down again as she read it. New York City was the place where Ziggy's tour had been heading! This strange phenomena suggested that there was no way Floyd and Ziggy could have survived and gone on to America.

"What are you reading, Mummy?" Eva asked, tugging at Audrey's skirt. Audrey swallowed past the lump in her throat and replaced the newspaper. "It's nothing important." She didn't want to scare her daughter, who knew nothing of death. Not until they found a body would she believe that Floyd was dead.

Early morning woke three bleary eyed men sitting around a burnt out bonfire. Floyd was the first one awake, having not slept very well the night before. He sat up and hugged his knees to his chest, watching the sun make its way steadily over the horizon. Images of Audrey's face haunted his mind- images of her crying and calling his name, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Ziggy awoke not long after that, and greeted Floyd, who muttered a "Hey" back at him.

"The fire burnt out, I suppose," Ziggy said, glancing at the pile of ashen wood.

"It did," Floyd answered him. Ziggy nodded and rubbed his hands along his arms. "It's getting a bit nippy out here."

They took stock of their supplies. Each person had two water bottles, stolen from the convenience store, but there was no more food. Floyd decided they'd have to find another store to take supplies from and travel on. "There's nothing we can do but carry on our journey and hope that sooner or later we'll find more people."

Rael was roused a little later, and didn't even acknowledge his companions as he sat up and stretched. Floyd noticed him, however, and spoke to him. "Ah, good, Rael, you're up. Do you have any idea of where to take us next?"

"No, we're not sure," Rael replied, and then froze, his hand moving to his mouth. Ziggy and Floyd stared at him in confusion.

"Who's 'we?'" Ziggy asked.

Rael pointed to himself. "Us."

Floyd leaned in to Ziggy's ear. "Great, now he's developed a split-personality disorder."

"WE HEARD THAT," Rael snapped, his eyebrows mashing together in annoyance. Floyd pulled away, looked at Ziggy again, and shrugged. "You weren't talking like this yesterday."

"We had no reason to talk like this yesterday," Rael said, standing up and brushing himself off. "Come on! We- by that we mean Ziggy and you and us- we have to get going! We're hungry for food."

With odd looks at him, Floyd and Ziggy scrambled up and followed after Rael as he crept through the woods to the streets, deciding not to mention this new development any further. Rael was annoyed with the way he was speaking. This was definitely not an improvement.

They came across a supermarket, just to their luck, and gorged themselves before taking whatever they couldn't eat in shopping bags and moving on. Floyd wondered again at the lack of human life. What could have happened that would drive every person living in the suburbs out of house and home?

"Where are we going?" Ziggy asked the air after a while.

"We don't know," Rael answered carelessly, picking up a rock off the street and hurling it into the distance. "Somewhere there's shelter, we hope. Where do you want to go?"

"So you mean our only guide has no clue where he's leading us?" Floyd blurted in disbelief.

"Hey, don't knock the guide," Rael said. "Like we said yesterday, we've never been out of New York City before. This is an adventure for us as much as it is for you."

"Well, you said yesterday you were an apt leader for us because you're an American," Floyd reminded Rael. He snorted. "Did we say that? We don't even know what the word 'apt' means."

"If it helps at all, Cyrus said that the second stop on the tour was going to be in a place called Suffragette City," Ziggy said. "Apparently it's in a state near New York… I just can't remember where…"

"Hm, I've never heard of the place," Floyd said. "And I've been to America plenty of times before."

"Well, it's worth a shot," Ziggy said. "We'll wait until we find a landmark of some sort or a place that can give us adequate directions."

"How long will we have to wait, though?" Floyd murmured, staring down at the ground.

All was silent for a few blessed minutes until Ziggy spoke up, directing his words to Rael. "So, Rael, can you tell me how you got that scar?"

"The one on our cheek?" Rael asked.

"You don't have any other scars, do you?" Ziggy pointed out.

"Well… if you'd let us show you where the Doktor castrated us…"

"Never mind," Floyd jumped in hurriedly, while Ziggy stared disappointedly at him. "Yes, Rael, I meant the one on your cheek."

"Oh, we got into a fight with our gang," Rael said. "We- that's our gang- came across another gang whom we'd never seen before. This one guy on their side called us a 'filthy half-breed…' so we attacked him, and a fight started."

"Are you a half-breed?" Ziggy asked, innocently enough. To his surprise, Rael whirled around and lunged at him, fingers outstretched and aimed at his face. Ziggy pulled away quickly, and Floyd moved in front of him to take the force of Rael's blow. They fell to the ground, the air knocked out of Floyd's lungs as Rael clambered off of him and made for Ziggy again.

"DON'T _EVER _CALL US THAT _AGAIN!" _he roared. "Or we swear to _GOD, _we'll kill you!"

Shocked, Ziggy backed away some more, and was saved when Floyd leapt up and grabbed Rael's arms, holding his hands behind his back. Rael snarled at him. "Let us go!"

"Not until you promise not to attack Ziggy again!" Floyd shouted, finally venting his rage and frustration with Rael and his situation. "Or me, for that matter!"

Rael struggled a little more before giving up and loosening. He should have known by now that it was no use fighting people who were bigger than him, but sometimes his temper got away from him, such as when the word 'half-breed' was used as an insult around him. _Where's our calm demeanor now, John? _He taunted himself in his mind. _Weren't we supposed to share that trait?_

Well, there was one trait Rael knew immediately had been inherited from John- his sharp tongue. He hadn't even been thinking about the words that slipped from his mouth- _"We swear to God we'll kill you!" _How many times had Rael heard John say those very words, albeit in the singular pronoun, over and over again whenever Rael irritated him?

"Can you behave yourself now?" Floyd barked, shaking Rael a bit to hammer the message home. Rael exhaled noisily. "Yes, we'll behave. Now can you let us go?" Floyd released him, and Rael immediately scuttled back, checking for any bruises of any sort on his body. Nothing was injured.

"Gosh, Floyd," Ziggy spoke up, "you don't need to be so harsh about it."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Floyd admitted. He wasn't sure what had come over him. He only knew that he had felt a deep urge to hurt this boy who was trying to hurt Ziggy, and that he would have done so had Rael not have given up. For a moment his darker self had taken over, and that was not a pleasant thing to occur.

"Come on," Rael muttered, walking away from them. "We have to keep moving." Reluctantly, Ziggy and Floyd turned and followed behind him, lagging at a distance so that they could talk.

"I'm sorry, Ziggy, but I just couldn't stand the thought of him hurting you," Floyd said, not sure why exactly that was.

Ziggy rolled his eyes. "Don't apologize to me- apologize to Rael! Can't you see that all he wants is to be accepted by us? His hometown was destroyed entirely and everyone he knew has died, not to mention that he's been through the most insane trip ever! And if he's telling the truth about it, all those awful things really did happen to him. So I think you should cut Rael some slack- he's been through a lot."

"That's no call for him attacking you like that," Floyd grumbled.

"Well, maybe it is." Ziggy shoved against Floyd's side. "Talk to him, Floyd. I'll not speak to you again until you do."

"Ziggy-" Floyd tried to say, but Ziggy turned his head to the side and ignored Floyd. Sighing, Floyd walked up to Rael, who was idly kicking pebbles with his bare feet.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Floyd asked, indicating Rael's shoeless toes.

"Nope," Rael said, kicking another stone to prove his point. "We've walked without shoes in New York streets before, and that was much worse than this."

Floyd gave a nonchalant grunt before looking up at the blue sky. A hawk sailed overhead, buoyed up by the gusts of wind. Keeping his eyes on the hawk- a sign of life!-, Floyd said, "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Rael."

"That's okay," Rael muttered. "We're sorry we attacked your friend. We just get so angry when people call us that word…" His hands briefly shook as a cloud of rage passed over his face, dissolving quickly.

"What's your nationality, Rael?" Floyd asked. He knew it couldn't be all American- there was a trace of a foreign accent in Rael's voice, plus his skin was a dusty cinnamon color.

Rael shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. "We're half Puerto Rican and half American," he answered. "Our father was from Puerto Rico and our mother was from here. We don't remember them too much."

Except, now that he thought about it, he could. He remembered his parents volleying curses at each other while he was trying to read a stupid book for school. The book didn't mean much to him, he only knew he had to read it, but his parents wouldn't shut up. How could his teacher expect him to work in this environment? He remembered the many times he had explored something new, out of curiosity- the food in the refrigerator, for example, or his mother's makeup in her dressing table. Instead of explaining to Rael what everything was and satisfying his questions, his mother had beaten him for being a "bad boy." It was harder to pinpoint exact memories of his father- Rael only knew that he had never once looked at him when he was home, and that he was away a lot anyway. Eventually Rael had had enough of their nagging and left home for good, and that was the end of that.

"Ah." Floyd removed his eyes from the sky. "And you've lived on New York all your life?"

"Yes, we have," Rael answered. "For…thirteen years with my parents, and then for five years with the gang."

They continued to walk in silence. Finally Floyd stopped Rael and said, "Look. Neither Ziggy nor I believe your story about being lost underground. If there's any way to prove it was true, I'll take you a lot more seriously." He didn't know why he was saying this, but he had to show Rael that he was only slightly inhibited about trusting him- that he wanted to believe. Ziggy, from behind Floyd, came up and stood silently by his side. They both looked at Rael, who shrugged.

"There's one way, but we don't think you'll like seeing it very much…" He tugged on the zipper of his jeans.

Floyd swallowed. "Yes, go ahead." He and Ziggy watched with a mixture of excitement and horror as Rael pulled his jeans and underwear down, exposing the scar from Doktor Dyper's operation. Ziggy had to force himself not to throw up or run away, while Floyd could not stop staring, shocked.

"Fucking raven went and stole our tube," Rael grumbled. "We could've used it again if he hadn't dropped it in the rapids."

"I think I've seen enough," Ziggy said weakly. "I… I believe you now, Rael."

Rael looked at Floyd. "Yes, but do you believe me?"

Floyd, without moving his eyes, nodded. Rael pulled his clothes back on. "Stop _staring! _It's not polite!"

"I'm sorry," Floyd said quickly, averting his gaze. Rael zipped his zipper back up and, without so much as a word or even a glance to the other men, began walking away. And Floyd and Ziggy had no choice but to follow him.

"Hey, about scars, how did you hurt your eye like that, Ziggy?" Rael asked suddenly. It was the first time he'd used Ziggy's name aloud.

"Well, I'll give you four hints…"

It soon became clear that the trio was walking down an interstate highway- with no cars on it. All the trees that should have been to the side of the road had fallen down, revealing an empty wasteland. It scared the hell out of Floyd, who had grown used to thick forests, and Rael, who had never been in so silent a place before. Only Ziggy was unperturbed, stopping along the way to point out certain things- "I think this tree was cut down recently, you can tell from the sap."

They finally pulled over to the side of the road, though no car had come along for the entirety of their trip, and made camp there. The sun was just beginning to set.

"We're heading south," Ziggy said. "I don't know if that's the way to Suffragette City or not, but we'll soon find out."

"What are we going to do when we get there, though?" Floyd asked.

"If we get there," Rael muttered, "the first thing we'd like to do is find a building with suitable shelter." The earthy terrain was a struggle for the city-born-and-bred Rael, who had only ever seen grass and trees when he was in Central Park.

"The first thing I want to do," Ziggy said, "is find a place to settle down in. Then I want to go to a new recording studio and get a new gig here in America. I want to keep my identity a secret until I've signed the contract, and then I won't be able to go back to the studio in London."

Floyd stared at Ziggy. He hadn't heard him talk about his future recently, and it was surprising to learn that he had an entire plan worked out. "That would cause a lot of legal problems, Ziggy. You can't have two different contracts with two different studios."

"I think I damn well can," Ziggy said. "Y'know, these things were handled much more easily on Mars. Music was free and anyone could perform it, as long as they stuck with that profession for the rest of their lives. The same went for all the other art forms- performance art, visual art…"

"Well, we're not on fucking Mars," Floyd suddenly snapped, surprising even him. Ziggy reacted by suddenly shrinking back in response to Floyd's harsh words, a wounded look in his eyes.

"Can you _be-haaaave _yourself now?" Rael mocked from a few short feet away. Floyd had half a mind to yell "SHUT UP!", but he reminded himself to be civil instead. He moved towards Ziggy, who was staring back at him with an utterly emotionless expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," Floyd murmured. "I'm frustrated and confused and it's not fair to take it out on you." He looked away from Ziggy, picking up a stick and poking at the embers in the fire with it.

"It's all right," Ziggy replied. "No offense taken." Floyd could tell from the subtle tone of his voice that he was lying. He sighed and opened his grocery bag, offering Ziggy some food. They ate together while Rael looked on, his eyes burning holes in the fire.

"Goodnight, Ziggy," Floyd said as they bedded down for the night. "Goodnight, Rael."

"Goodnight Floyd," Ziggy replied. "'Night, Rael."

"G'night, guys," Rael murmured, staring up at the stars in the sky. The trio drifted off slowly as the fire crackled and burnt itself out.


	12. Use Your Heart As A Weapon

Chapter Eleven:_ Use Your Heart As A Weapon_

"Audrey?"

She wouldn't turn around, pretending not to hear him.

He came up and touched her shoulder gently. "Audrey?"

She still didn't respond. He turned and stared into her eyes, her bleak, dark eyes that saw nothing, not even the man in front of her. "Audrey!"

She treated him as if he was a ghost.

With a shudder, Floyd awoke from his dream, his mind still echoing, _Audrey Audrey Audrey… _He briefly covered his face with his hands, reminding himself again that _It's just a dream…_

_We have to get to Suffragette City, _Floyd thought, lifting his head to stare at the rising sun. If they didn't get there, Audrey would never know that he was alive after all.

He curled back up on the ground, still not completely calmed down, and watched Ziggy and Rael breathe in time. The Martian lay on his side, his back facing Floyd, head down on his arm. Rael was on his back, his arms around himself, as it seemed they had been all night. Floyd stared at him for a much longer time than he did Ziggy. Such a strange man he was… more alien to Floyd than the actual alien. Did he deserve more credit, as Ziggy seemed to think he did? So far Rael had not done anything of note, nothing that had stood out in the mind of Floyd other than his insane ramblings on the day they found him. How would he help out in the trio's journey through America? He couldn't even provide guidance.

Floyd slowly moved his eyes on to Ziggy. He watched his back move with each rhythmic breath. Ziggy was very determined, that was true- his words last night about his goals upon reaching Suffragette City had proved that. He was very much committed to the role of a musician. If his career continued to thrive once they'd reached Suffragette City, how quickly would he fall prey to it? Floyd would have to make sure Ziggy steered clear of the drugs and sex that Floyd had fallen in love with all those years ago.

He closed his eyes again and felt the sun warm him. Ah well, it was no use philosophizing on these things right now. First they had to see if Suffragette City was still around, and that it hadn't been destroyed like New York City.

"Did we ever tell you the story of our first romantic adventure?"

These were the first words that had been spoken since the trio started down the interstate once more. Ziggy and Floyd glanced at each other, and Floyd shook his head.

"No, I don't think so," Ziggy said. "What happened?"

Rael began laughing quietly at himself. "So we bought this book, _Erogenous Zones and Difficulties in Overcoming Finding Them." _Ziggy stifled a giggle at the name. "Later that night we met a girl in our favorite bar. She was really hot! Her name was Marina. We were… infatuated with her, we guess."

"Young love," Ziggy sighed. "Always a good starting point for a story!"

"It wasn't love," Rael stated dryly. "Well, we thought it was. We spent many weeks studying the book- devoted study- until we could move from page one to page one hundred with tremendous sophistication and skill. Finally the day of judgement had arrived. Our opposite number- that's Marina- arrived in the flesh, and we spent a grand total of… 78 seconds doing the deal." He broke into a sudden chatter of outright laughter, sarcastic laughter at his failure. Ziggy joined in. "Speed sex! Oh God, then what happened?"

"Well, it left our opposite number not even mildly titillated," Rael answered. "Simply put, she slapped us and told us not to find her again. We were left alone in our friend's apartment, so mortified we could have died."

Ziggy let out another peal of laughter at the story, and even Floyd cracked a sympathetic smile. "That's tough, Rael," he said. "I'm sorry it ended so abruptly."

"Oh, we didn't care," Rael said, shrugging his shoulders for emphasis. "We never dated again, but that wasn't our fault. Those girls were too stupid to know good looks when they saw them."

With the story all told, Rael sunk back into deep meditation, following the lines on the road closely. He was surprised at how easily the words had flowed. In fact, prior to the telling of the story he hadn't even known what "titillated" meant. _It must be a John thing, _Rael resolved, and continued walking.

"Ugh, these mosquitoes are really obnoxious," Floyd muttered, slapping one against his forearm and blinking quickly at the sight of blood.

"Those bugs?" Ziggy inspected the _splat _on Floyd's arm. "They're not bothering me. Look." He offered his own arm for proof, and Floyd leaned in to examine it. Instantly he was taken aback by a strong scent.

"God, Ziggy, you smell like citronella!"

"Really?" Ziggy stared at his arm. "What's citronella?"

"It's this stuff that keeps bugs away," Floyd answered.

"Oh." Ziggy gave his arm another once-over with his eyes. "I guess that explains it. Everyone smelled like this on Mars."

They walked on in silence, before Rael interrupted once again. "You guys said you're musicians?"

"I'm the musician," Ziggy replied. "Floyd is my friend. He writes songs too, though."

"What kind of songs?" Rael had never cared much for music, but he respected those who made it. He supposed lyric-writing was a talent that no ordinary man possessed.

"Oh, just songs," Ziggy said airily before Floyd could. "Stuff and nonsense, most of them. I just write what comes to mind."

"Can we hear one?" Rael asked. Ziggy nodded, looking delighted that he was being asked to take up his craft again. "Of course you can! I've been working on one recently- it's called 'A Space Oddity.' Floyd, you remember- it's the one you helped me work on." He gestured towards Floyd. "Do you want to sing with me?"

Floyd shook his head no. Sure, Rael seemed ignorant for a young man who'd lived in America his whole life, but there was no taking chances- Floyd had been popular in America, and anyone might have heard his music. "You go ahead, Ziggy. I don't think I know the tune yet."

"Okay." Ziggy's feet quickly fell into the beat as he opened his mouth and sang. "_Ground Control to Major Tom… Ground Control to Major Tom… take your protein pills and put your helmet on…"_

Without instrumentals, the song contained gaps that Ziggy worked hard to fill by holding the notes out. Rael went on without looking at Ziggy, his ears cocked, listening. Floyd marveled over the voice coming from the alien- unique and distinct, a voice that would be recognized anywhere. He was sorry when Ziggy stopped singing.

"That's all I've got," he said after singing the first verse. "I've written the ending but I don't quite know how to get from here to there."

"It was very good," Floyd said, wishing that his music had sounded like that.

Rael grunted. "We guess it was okay."

"It's better than anything I've ever written," Floyd defended, and that was true- painfully true.

"Oh, really?" Ziggy looked to Floyd with interest. "What sort of things have you written?"

"Em, they're not very good," Floyd said hesitantly. Not only did he not want to sing, for fear of being recognized, but he also felt uncomfortable sharing such personal pieces with Ziggy and Rael.

"Oh come on!" Ziggy laughed, nudging Floyd. "They're good enough for my manager. Why don't you just sing one song?"

"No thank you," Floyd said. "You'd hate my voice. Maybe some other time."

"Well, you could just read it," Rael suggested, and Ziggy immediately took up that idea. "Go on, Floyd! Go recite one of your songs. For me?"

He grabbed Floyd's shoulders and pulled him towards himself, staring deeply at Floyd with his strange, dazzling blue eyes. Floyd was flustered.

"Read it read it read it…"

"Em…" Floyd struggled to get away from Ziggy. "Okay, fine! I'll do it!"

"Yes!" Ziggy exclaimed, jumping back and clapping his hands like a kid while Rael snickered at Floyd's confusion. Floyd rolled his eyes in Ziggy's direction- "Who knew you were so childish?" He waited for Ziggy to settle down and for Rael to quiet before taking a deep breath and drawing the words up from his brain. He'd memorized all of his songs, of course, and the words came slowly, uneasily, words that Floyd was sharing for the first time.

"Through the fish-eyed lenses of tearstained eyes,

"I can barely define this moment in time.

"And far from flying high in clear blue skies,

"I'm spiraling down to the hole in the ground where I hide.

"If you negotiate the minefield in the drive,

"And beat the dogs and cheat the cold electronic eyes,

"And if you make it past the shotgun in the hall,

"Dial the combination, open the priesthole,

"And if I'm in I'll tell you what's behind the wall."

Floyd swallowed, taking a deep breath. No one spoke, waiting for him to continue.

"There's a kid who had a big hallucination,

"Making love to girls in magazines.

"He wonders if you're sleeping with your newfound faith.

"Could anybody love him, or is it just a crazy dream?"

At the end of the passage, Floyd's voice became strained, his tone plaintive, as he addressed the next words to Audrey- words unspoken until now.

"And if I show you my dark side

"Will you still hold me tonight?

"And if I open my heart to you

"And show you my weak side,

"What would you do?

"Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone?

"Would you take the children away

"And leave me alone?

"And smile in reassurance

"As you whisper down the phone?

"Would you send me packing

Or would you take me home?"

Floyd's voice dropped in pitch, quieting as he recited the last stanza. Ziggy and Rael were riveted, staring up at him.

"Thought I oughta bear my naked feelings

"Thought I oughta tear the curtain down.

"I held the blade in trembling hands,

"Prepared to make it, but just then- the phone rang."

The last line slid out in a whisper.

"I never had the nerve to make the final cut."

There was a pause, a silence in which one could hear a leaf fall to the ground. Then Ziggy burst into slow applause. Rael followed suit a moment after.

Floyd came back to himself, back from the past that he had momentarily been transported to. He dared to glance at the faces of his friends. Rael's face was secure, hiding his emotions, but Ziggy looked awestruck. He was visibly, powerfully moved by the lyrics that Floyd had recited. Seeing Ziggy's expression somehow made Floyd feel calmer.

"So… did you like it?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes," Ziggy breathed immediately, shaking his head in wonderment. "Dear God, yes. How can you say anything I've ever written is better than that? That was… incredible."

"It was better than Ziggy's song," Rael answered. "No offense."

"None taken! That's the truth!" Ziggy touched Floyd's shoulder. "You must share more of your songs someday. I'd love to hear you sing." Floyd could tell that Ziggy was dying to ask him something, but he didn't prod and ask what it was. Instead, all Floyd said was, "Thank you."

They continued on their way.

That night- the third night out in the wasteland that had been America- Ziggy waited for Rael to fall asleep before finally asking Floyd his question. "Why did you write that song?"

Floyd sighed, turning his face away from the fire so that Ziggy could not see him. He debated for a moment whether he should tell Ziggy the real story- delve into his past and explain everything. But Floyd still wasn't comfortable with revealing his past identity to Ziggy, and if anyone was going to hear the meaning of the song, it would be Audrey who first did so. Floyd answered evasively, "I felt like writing it."

"I don't mean that," Ziggy said. "What inspired it? I mean… the lyrics were very powerful, Floyd. I've never responded so emotionally to a song."

"Fancy that, I didn't even sing it," Floyd smiled. "I could say the same about your music."

"We're not talking about my music, though," Ziggy pointed out. "Floyd. Was this song based on personal experience?"

Floyd shook his head. "No. I'm not quite sure where the lyrics came from."

"Are you sure?" Ziggy questioned. "It seemed very personal to you. I mean, that's okay if it's not my business knowing…"

"I don't know what the song means," Floyd said. "It was the first one I ever wrote. I don't know where it came from."

Ziggy waited for a long while before finally saying, "Okay," and lying down. He watched the fire, and Floyd watched Ziggy subtly, seeing the light of the fire glint off of his eyes. Those eyes… They reminded Floyd of a cat's eyes, glowing in the dark.

Ziggy was lost inside his head, trying to decipher Floyd's lyrics. He'd felt a strong urge to cry when Floyd had finished reciting the song, but held it down because humans did not consider that an appropriate reaction. The words that he was unable to forget still bounced around, not only in his mind but in his heart. Ziggy was sure that Floyd had been lying when he said that he didn't know what the song was about. The lyrics seemed far too personal for that, and besides, why else would he have looked away when talking to Ziggy?

The only problem was, Ziggy had no idea what the song meant. It was personal, and from Floyd's point of view, but it was all a mess. Lyrics about warding off intruders blended into those about a confused teenager, which turned into rhetorical questions asked to an unknown person (possibly a lover- Audrey?), and finally closed out with a confession. It was all too confusing for Ziggy to analyze. All he could tell was that Floyd had been through a lot of pain in his life that inspired him to write the song. Namely, Floyd had secrets- and Ziggy was keen on divining them.

As the sun fell lower and lower in the sky, most people hurried to the comforts of their home, protected by lock and key from the darkness outside. For others, however, the night was young and the streets were theirs. After sunset, the sidewalks and alleyways of the suburbs became populated by barefoot teenagers, gathered together with a common goal. They each were armed with glowing wristbands and cans of spray paint, and let loose on their artistic talents by the lights of streetlamps.

One boy in particular liked to run through the empty streets, his arms flung wide, feeling the wind on his cheeks. He decided to wait a while and admire his favorite works of art downtown before starting a new piece. There was a particularly nice one on the bridge in the park, which read "Do you ever get the feeling that you're missing the mark?" He loved it when the graffiti asked such questions, making him think.

Another good one was on a factory sign, written in marker- "I struggle with the feeling that my life isn't mine." It was a raw confession, the type that was unwelcome to adults. He was surprised that it hadn't been removed yet. Whoever had the gall to write such a message had his entire respect.

Sometimes when he was running, he would pass a member of the gang, and they would call out to him. "Hey, Xyloto!" He'd nod and smile back and keep running. The gang tended to get spread far apart on their nightly forays, but they could always be trusted to meet again.

Tonight he had a great plan in mind. No one had ever written anything on the black streets. The streets were sacred, touched by cars and human feet. Not paint. Never paint. That would be sacrilege.

But tonight, he had to paint on the streets. Someone was out there, growing more and more powerful every day, and the only way to fight it was with these messages. The streets had remained untouched for too long. The only way this mysterious opposition would take notice would be if he defaced them.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the street. He was a little bit nervous, that was true. None of the gang members had any idea what he was up to. He'd wanted to surprise them. But what if they didn't think it was a good idea? What if marking up the streets was a crime to be resented for?

Well, it was too late now. He was here- it was now or never. He slid his fingers into the backpack that he carried on one shoulder and withdrew several cans of spray paint- orange, purple, and pink. As soon as the first letter was painted on the concrete canvas, his fear melted away. He was working in his element now.

The words ended up stretching down the block, and in the end his spray cans were empty. He stood back to admire his masterpiece. DON'T LET THEM TAKE CONTROL. Such a blatant message could get him in trouble, but he didn't care. At least it worked.

As he stood in the street, his eyes were too busy staring at his new piece to take any notice of what was going on around him. Suddenly a screech of tires filled the air, and he looked up. A black car melted out of the night, its headlights pinning him down. It swerved off of the path and made straight for him. The opposition had found him.

He turned and pelted down the street, forgetting his art. The car accelerated. He could almost feel its heat on his back. _Come on, faster, faster… _He ran onto the sidewalk and took off through the grass. The car wouldn't be able to follow him here. But to his surprise, it continued the chase, zooming off the road and aiming for him.

_I can't outrun a car. _His lungs were already beginning to ache. But he couldn't let them take him. Up ahead, a tree was in sight. Thank God! He scrambled over to it with his last burst of strength and mounted it at the base, hauling himself onto a low branch. The car had lost its target. He waited up there for a long time as it sped on through the night, searching. His heart was pounding like crazy.

_How come they're out to get us? _He thought. _How come they're out when they don't know the facts?_

It was like this every night- the gang always had to face those cars. They had had run ins with the people inside them a few times in the past, and it was always bloody, enough to teach them not to mess with such people anymore.

After a while, he climbed back down from the tree. He pressed his back to its trunk for a few moments, scanning for any signs of the car returning, before rushing back out to the street. He was worried that his masterpiece might have been ruined by the car running over it. Luckily, it was still there, glistening in the lamplight. He hugged himself suddenly. It was beautiful.

Later that night, one of the people who had retreated to the shelter of her home now lay in bed, listening to the rain on the roof. She was the only one still awake at that hour. Her parents had gone to bed after a long time spent arguing, and yelling at her when she tried to intervene. She'd escaped quickly in order to not get hurt, but closing the door to her room did nothing to drown out their voices. Now they were both asleep in different sections of the house, and she was wide awake, wondering where it had all gone wrong in her life.

She'd had big dreams when she was just a girl. She had expected the world to fall at her feet. She'd wanted to be a princess, and modified that dream as she got older into wanting to be an artist. A musician, maybe, or a painter- any kind of art would do for her. But then her father had lost his job, the news had come that Earth was really dying, and things had gone to hell. She had started up a job at a fast food place to help support her family, and worked long hours with little pay and little appreciation by her parents. To make matters worse, they'd begun to grow apart, arguing left and right and even dragging her into it. All she really wanted was a chance to escape- a chance to pursue her dreams in the outside world. But it was impossible.

The only thing that helped her remember those dreams was in bed like now, when she closed her eyes and pretended she wasn't there. Her dreaming mind filled up the space, showing her a vision of paradise. Paradise was a world where her parents were in love and happy together and her father had his job back. Paradise was a world that bowed down to her, a world that she commanded with artistic vision and talent. Paradise was lovely, beautiful, and much better than the rat trap she was caught in now.

She awoke with tears on her face- not the first time she'd cried herself to wakefulness- and sat up in bed, calming herself by listening to the storm outside. Most people loathed the rain and storms, but she loved them. She got up and went to her window, staring out through the water droplets on the glass to the world out there. Faint lights glowed in the distance- the lights of the streetlamps, but also individual lights of people glowing in the dark as they returned to their home in the closed-off part of town. She checked the clock. It was much too late for anyone to be out. What were they doing there?

Her heart ached to be out there with the other people. They looked free and careless, not confined by their everyday lives like she was. Growing despondent, she rested her head against the window and closed her eyes.

_Things will look better in the morning, _she told herself. _The sun must set to rise._


	13. Away She Flies

Chapter Twelve: _Away She Flies_

As morning broke, the trio awoke and continued on their journey. By this fourth day, moral was sinking. Rael was fed up with Ziggy and Floyd, Floyd was missing his family, and even Ziggy was starting to doubt they'd ever reach Suffragette City. As a result, there wasn't much talking. The silence stretched as Floyd swatted as mosquitoes, Rael kicked pebbles, and Ziggy noted Earthly plant forms (which weren't too different from Martian plant forms), cataloguing them in his mind.

Finally Rael couldn't take it anymore. "What the hell happened to this place?"

"We've been traveling for three days and none of us are even close to figuring it out," Floyd said. "I'm just shocked we haven't seen any other humans."

"God. We're so sick of traveling!" Rael burst out. "This is giving us the creeps. In New York, we were always surrounded by so many people…"

Except that Rael hadn't liked it when they gave him attention. Being around a lot of people was fine, if they didn't notice him. When they did, though, Rael hadn't been able to handle their attention. His instincts would take over, and he'd yell at the people to "stop staring at me!" He had never been able to figure out why he hated this so much.

A word now bubbled up in Rael's brain- a word that he had never heard before. _Introvert. _He mouthed it softly to himself, enjoying the feel of it on his tongue. IN-TRO-VERT. The T at the end rounding off the word in a clear beat, the smooth feel of the O in the middle…

But what did it mean?  
_John? _Rael asked his inner self. _Do you have any answers?_

All at once he felt he knew the meaning of the word. _A quiet person who is not quite shy, but likes to be alone. Someone who collects energy from their internal spirit, rather than an extrovert, who gathers energy from the outside world. Introverts are powerful in the world. They enjoy creative projects, look before they leap, and always think before responding. However, introverts are usually looked down upon in favor of extroverts, whom the world holds in high esteem._

Rael stopped dead as the entire explanation popped up in his head. Ziggy and Floyd stopped along with him, alarmed.

"What's wrong, Rael?" Floyd asked.

"We… we think we're having a revelation," Rael gasped, clutching his head. "Don't mind us…" He moved away from his company and stared torturedly out into the distance.

How many times in the past had Rael been called stupid and stubborn because of his reluctance to talk to others? How many times had he been asked to speak up, back when he was in school? Hadn't the gang, when he first met them, mercilessly beaten him up because of his reluctance to defend himself? And hadn't his favorite raids always been the creative ones involving spray paint? And of course there was his crippling fear of being alone and stared-at in a crowd. John had revealed that his heart was shaven to make him appear to be an extrovert to others. Now Rael finally understood what it meant, and what good it had done. Without the resemblance of an extrovert, the gang's respect for him after leaving the Pontiac would have quickly diminished, since he had no way to back up the tall tales spun about him. He wouldn't have survived in fights, becoming confrontational at the drop of a hat. If it hadn't been for that anonymous razor, Rael would have been left for dead on the streets of New York instead of being here to explore new terrain. And now that he was exploring new terrain and away from the boundaries of the nonexistent New York, Rael could finally let go of his tough exterior and let the inside shine through. It would take work, especially after he had stifled his introversion for years, but in Rael's opinion it was better to let hair grow over his heart again than to go through another painful, unnecessary shaving.

There was only one thing Rael could think. _Thank you, John._

He turned back to his confused companions.

"What were you thinking of, Rael?" Ziggy asked quietly as they continued walking.

"We finally know who we are," Rael answered proudly.

Unfortunately, moral sunk even lower as the sun rose higher. By the afternoon, not even Rael's newfound knowledge about himself could raise his spirits. He took to complaining irritably about everything- the sun was too hot, his mosquito bites itched, and he didn't even know where he was going. His constant harping was starting to wear on Floyd. Seeing that his friend was inches away from strangling Rael, Ziggy blurted out the first distraction that came to mind. "Let's play a game!"

"A game?" Rael stated skeptically, while Floyd asked, "What kind of game, Ziggy?"

Ziggy shrugged. "A word game. I'll say one sentence, and you repeat it and add to it, and then Rael repeats what you said and adds to it, and it just keeps going from there. Does that sound fun?"

"Sure," Rael said, and Floyd nodded. Ziggy smiled. "Okay, I'll start. When I get to Suffragette City, I'm going to buy a house." He pointed to Floyd. "Your turn."

"When I get to Suffragette City, I'm going to buy a house and get a recording contract," Floyd said. "Am I doing this right?"

"Yeah," Ziggy said. "Splendid. It's Rael's turn."

"When I get to Suffragette City, I'm going to buy a house, get a recording contract, and form a band." Rael said.

"When I get to Suffragette City, I'm going to buy a house, get a recording contract, form a band, and buy a new guitar," Ziggy offered.

"When I get to Suffragette City, I'm going to buy a house, get a recording contract, form a band, buy a new guitar, and take my friends out to dinner," Floyd continued.

"Hey, no fair!" Rael blurted. "That's not about music!"

"No one ever said it had to be about music," Floyd pointed out. Rael grumbled. "It's easier to remember that way."

"Just go on," Ziggy said with a grin.

Rael sighed. "Okay. When I get to Suffragette City, I'm going to buy a house, get a recording contract-"

But his words were cut short as the trio broke through the trees they'd been traipsing through all day, and were replaced by a gasp. They were standing on a hill, looking down on a street with buildings below. It wasn't that they'd reached a city- they'd come across plenty of those on their journey already. No, what shocked the travelers the most was that milling about on the streets were people. _People. _Human beings that were not a part of their group. Finally, some form of life!

With their hearts in their throats, the trio raced down the hill, forgetting to ask what Rael would do when he got to Suffragette City. For all intents and purposes, they were already there.

He saw them coming from a mile away. They were hard to miss- one of them had hair the color of a fire engine, and another one looked oddly familiar. They broke out of the trees on top of the hill and, after gazing there a while, began running down towards the streets.

He wasn't the only one who caught sight of the newcomers. His gang leader gave a whistle at the sight, causing all the other gang members to stop their scavenging. "To me!" Noticing the newcomers, the gang bunched around him, slipping into defensive postures. They waited, breathing as one entity, until the three newcomers had gotten close enough to be observed.

The tallest one of them had brown hair and wore dirty clothes that looked too hot for the current weather in America- jeans and a button down shirt. He was flanked by a bizarre looking man with spiky red hair, sparkly clothing, and a lightning bolt painted over one eye; and a young man with light brown skin, tousled black hair, deep circles under his eyes, and tattered clothing. All three were carrying plastic bags. Immediately Xyloto recognized the last man, and he could tell from the sudden ripples of whispers throughout his gang that they recognized him too. The gang leader gave no signal to attack, however, and mumbled to the rest of the gang, "Let's hear what they have to say before jumping to conclusions."

The three men stopped in front of the gang and sized them up before the brown-haired man spoke. "Hello."

"Hello," Xyloto's gang leader said cautiously. "Who are you?"

Before the brown-haired man could reply, however, the man that Xyloto recognized suddenly gave a cry. "Hey! We know these guys!" He lunged forward, and the red-haired man grabbed his arm.

"Look!" the young man snarled, twisting in the red-haired man's grasp. "That guy! Right over there!" He pointed, and Xyloto felt a shock run through him as he realized he was pointing to him. "That guy is the one who gave us this scar! That guy called us a half-breed!"

And the pieces fell into place. "You?!" Xyloto blurted incredulously, staring at the young man. Now the brown-haired man rushed over to help restrain him as the half-breed struggled further. "You're the one who started that fight a few months ago?"

"Yeah, we are!" the half-breed spat. "And we're not sorry! Let us get him," he addressed his handlers. "He deserves everything we can do to him!"

Xyloto wasn't sure why the young man was referring to himself in the plural pronoun, but he managed to say, "I'm not sorry for what I did either! You're a filthy half-breed and your kind doesn't belong on the streets!"

With a roar, the young man broke free of his constraints and charged towards the gang. The movement was so sudden that there was no time to defend Xyloto before the half-breed had gotten to him, wrapping his hands around his throat. Instantly everything was lost in a flurry of action- the brown-haired and red-haired men ran up to stop their companion, but were attacked by the gang, while other members tried to pry the half-breed off of Xyloto. Xyloto was choking, blood draining from his face. He clawed weakly at the half-breed, who continued to squeeze his throat, a look of pure rage on his face.

Finally someone had the idea to return the half-breed's actions to himself. One gang member grabbed his throat and began choking him. Slowly, the grip on Xyloto's throat loosened as the half-breed lost oxygen, and he crawled away, gasping sweet, sweet air. Seeing that Xyloto was free, the gang member currently choking the half-breed stopped his actions in favor of holding his arms behind his back. The half-breed twisted, yelling wordlessly, but he could break free as more gang members surrounded him, holding him down.

"YOU BASTARDS!" the half-breed shrieked. "WE HATE YOU ALL!"

Xyloto felt a touch near his shoulder. He looked up; it was his gang leader. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Xyloto whispered hoarsely. "I think so."

"Good," his leader said. He straightened up and looked at the half-breed's companions, who likewise were being held down by the gang. "What are your names?"

"My name is Floyd," the brown-haired man said. He had a British accent.

"I'm Ziggy," the red-haired man said, also with a British accent, his voice sounding desperate. "Ziggy Stardust- have you ever heard of me? I'm a singer, a musician…."

The name wasn't familiar to Xyloto or his leader. The leader shook his head no. "I'm sorry. And what's your friend's name?"

"Rael," Ziggy answered. In hearing his name, Rael let out another cry.

"What are you doing here?" the leader asked.

"We've been wandering the wilderness for three days now," Floyd said. "We haven't seen any sign of humans since the first day, when our plane crashed on the shore near New York City. Can you tell us where we are?"

"You're still in the state of New York," the gang leader said. "This part of town was closed off after a devastating fire. It's now a ghost town, if you will. No one inhabits these suburbs but our gang, and other gangs, and the people in the cars that go by at night." He looked more closely at Floyd. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No," Floyd answered. "Ziggy and I live in England."

"Where did you meet Rael?"

"He was found on the outskirts of New York City, after it had been destroyed," Floyd explained. The gang gasped and whispered- "Destroyed? New York is destroyed?" Floyd continued- "We took him to be our guide through America. We're trying to reach a place called Suffragette City."

Immediately all the gang members went still. The leader paused for a while before saying, "You do realize that Rael, being a member of a rival gang, has broken the rules by coming here. He is supposed to stay inside his own borders. Under the conditions of our gang, we're going to have to take him prisoner."

"What?!" Rael blurted. "This is insane! Our gang is dead! We're the only ones left!"

"Do you mean to say that Floyd and Ziggy are a part of your gang too?" the leader questioned.

"No," Rael said. "We speak in the plural. It's a habit of ours." He seemed annoyed, refusing to meet the leader's eyes. "They don't have anything to do with us."

"We didn't mean you any harm by coming here," Floyd said. "We'll leave immediately if you wish."

"No!" Ziggy said. "Floyd, what about Rael? We can't let him get stuck here!"

"You have a choice," the leader said. "Leave Rael here with us and go on your way, or stay and become a part of the community. Those are the only two choices I can give you."

"But we need to get to Suffragette City," Floyd said.

"Not now you don't," the leader said. "Make a decision. It's now or never."

Floyd and Ziggy looked at each other. A silent conversation seemed to go through them with their eyes before finally Floyd said, "We're staying here. Take me to your leader."

The boy smiled. "I am their leader."

The newcomers were led off, Rael protesting all the way. Xyloto got up from the ground and stared into Rael's blue animal eyes. Rael raised his voice. "Stop staring at us!"

"You don't like that, do you?" Xyloto taunted. "Well, I'll stare all you want if it makes you feel uncomfortable, _Rael." _He scoffed. "What kind of a name is Rael, anyway?"

"It's _our _name," Rael snapped. "And it's a damn good one, too! We bet your name is stupid!"

Some of the gang members snickered, and Xyloto glared at them. "My name is not stupid."

"Then why don't you tell us what it is?" Rael said.

"It's Xyloto," Xyloto said, and groaned softly as Rael burst into laughter. "Zyluhtoe? What the fuck? What kind of a shitty name is that?"

"Hey, watch your fucking mouth!" Xyloto snarled.

"You watch yours!" Rael threw back.

"Hey, can it, both of you," the gang leader intervened. "Or you'll both be punished."

They continued the walk in silence.

Coming home from an all-day shift, she walked as quickly as possible to avoid the stares of shopowners and of dangers unknown. She didn't like being alone in the town- anyone could do anything to an unprotected young girl. She did carry a small can of pepper spray in her purse, just in case, and so far no one had ever tried anything with her, but the idea that someone could always made her antsy and hurried her step. Today, though, her step was not only hurried by the thought of unseen threats on the streets. Today she had to get home before either of her parents did. She had a plan, and she was going to set it in motion.

Once home, she ran into the house and rummaged around in the drawers. There it was- the key to her parents' car. She took it in her hand and headed out, making sure not to creak any floorboards- for all she knew, her father was asleep upstairs.

Outside, she jumped into the key and started it up, buckling her seatbelt. She had only driven a few times before in her life, but she knew how to start a car. Putting it in reverse, she backed out of the driveway, shifted into drive, and sped off down the road. It was only until she didn't recognize anything that she rolled the windows down, turned the radio up, and let out a cheer. She was free, and ready to join the people she had seen glowing on the streets last night.

The gang lived in a large abandoned building facing sidewalks that were covered in graffiti and a pristine, black street. Upon arrival, Floyd asked if there was an available telephone, but the gang members just laughed at him. They showed Floyd and Ziggy the room they would be staying in, on the second floor, and told them not to move from there until someone came to get them.

The building had running water, at least. Floyd cleaned up as best he could with sink water, and drank some of it. He stared at himself in the cracked mirror. He needed a shave- badly.

Leaving the bathroom, Floyd caught sight of Ziggy slumped against the cot that was to be their bed. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Ziggy said, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair.

"How the hell are you still clean-shaven?" Floyd asked.

Ziggy shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think we Martians grow facial hair." He seemed utterly worn out as he got to his feet and dragged himself into the bathroom. Floyd unbuttoned his dusty shirt and set it on the floor, and sat down on the cot to take stock of their situation.

The windows of the room were all broken, without glass in the panes. The only items of furniture in the room were the cot and a wobbly-looking dressing table, with three drawers. Floyd got up and peeked inside each drawer, finding nothing but a slingshot in one and a few pornography magazines in another. He closed the drawers and went back to the cot, lying down. It felt good to finally stretch out on a comfortable surface.

Ziggy emerged from the bathroom still looking weary. He went over to the cot. "Mind if I join you?"

"That's a tad bit awkward," Floyd said, looking up at Ziggy. "And what if people got the wrong idea?"

"No one's going to see," Ziggy said, his tone far from joking. He sat down on the cot, and Floyd slid against the wall to make room. Ziggy lay down next to him, closing his eyes. The scent of citronella filled Floyd's nostrils.

"Good God, but I'm exhausted," Ziggy said softly, his breath stirring the dust motes in the air.

"You don't look very good," Floyd said, observing Ziggy's tired expression. "You should get some sleep."

"I can't, though." Ziggy opened his eyes. "I'm too frightened…" He blinked, staring at the ceiling. "I mean, I'm just… I'm uncertain and nervous, and it's making me overwrought." He lifted one arm and stretched it out, bending and unbending. "Ahhh… it's just, I didn't expect to be captured by these people, and who knows how long they're going to keep us here? And we can't leave without Rael, but Rael can't leave because he's a prisoner… All I want to do is get back to a city and start my career again. I hate being alone like this."

"You're not alone," Floyd said. "I mean, I'm here…"

Ziggy smiled a beautiful smile, stretching out his other arm. "That's true, Floyd. I have to say… well, thank you for sticking with me."

"No problem, Ziggy," Floyd sighed warmly. "I'm sure everything is going to be okay."

"I hope so," Ziggy said, resting his hands on his stomach. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

In a few moments Ziggy had relaxed and was breathing deeply, his eyes moving in REM sleep. Floyd watched him for a moment, oddly compelled by that strange face. Ziggy wasn't traditionally handsome, he saw. He looked downright unusual, in fact… but something about him- his eyes, maybe?- was utterly attractive.

Floyd felt his face grow warm with embarrassment, and he turned his head away. Why was he thinking such things? Ziggy was a man, just like Floyd. He shouldn't be attractive to Floyd in that way. Floyd wanted to sit up and move to the floor, but he also didn't want to wake Ziggy up. Trying to banish all thoughts of the man next to him from his brain, he began to think about Audrey.

A knocking on the door startled Floyd in wakefulness. He sat up, trying to sort himself out. The knock came again, and Floyd called, "I'm coming!" He carefully stepped over the still-sleeping Ziggy and opened the door.

"Hello," the boy outside the door said to him. "You and Ziggy are wanted downstairs. I'm to take you there."

"Oh, okay." Floyd went over to the cot and shook Ziggy. "Ziggy, wake up! We're wanted downstairs."

Ziggy sat up, stretched, and yawned. "Okay, Floyd," he mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes. Floyd hauled him out of bed and together they went to the door. The boy nodded at them and beckoned with his hand. "Follow me."

Downstairs, all members of the gang were gathered around on the floor, some sitting down, others leaning against the wall. Floyd caught sight of Xyloto, the boy that Rael had attacked, but no sign of Rael. The gang leader stood up and crossed the room to shake hands.

"My name is Michael," he said. "I'm the leader of this gang."

"Good to meet you, Michael," Ziggy said.

Michael swept his hands around the room. "My gang is made up of all kinds of boys who left home and never went back, or never had a home to begin with. I've provided them with shelter out here in the suburbs, shelter and food and a place to call home. We're not just a gang- we're a family.

"We always have an activity on tab at night. We used to take trips to the Big Apple, but now transportation has gotten hard for us, so we stay here and paint on every street, every car, and every possible surface. There are dangers to being here. There are people out to get us, who try to run us over in their cars every night. If we leave this ghost town, they find us and attack us. That's why we don't normally accept strangers.

"Now, your friend Rael is someone we've had an altercation with before in the past. In New York City one night, we ran into a rival gang. There was tension between us, but we would have been all right had Xyloto here-" he jerked his head towards Xyloto- "not called Rael a 'filthy half-breed.' Rael attacked him, and we had a fight. His gang won the rumble, and we've had a grudge against them ever since. That was only about two months ago."

"You didn't tell it right," Xyloto mumbled. "He tried to kill me!"

Michael ignored this. "You guys are the oldest gang members we've ever accepted. I'm twenty myself. How old are you?"

"Forty-two," Floyd responded, while Ziggy answered, "I'm not really sure what it is in Earth years…"

Michael glanced confusedly at him, but nodded. "I see. Well, I'm pretty sure you guys can help out our gang to the best of your abilities."

"But-" Ziggy began, but shut up as he realized Michael wasn't done talking. "Now I'd like to hear your story. What brings you here to America?"

All eyes were on Floyd and Ziggy. Ziggy nodded to Floyd- _you tell it. _Floyd sighed. "I can tell you the story, but I'm not sure you'll believe it all…"

When the story was finished, Floyd's throat was dry was so much talking. The gang had been listening intently, and now one of them piped up. "Are you really from Mars?"

"Yes," Ziggy said. "If you don't like it you don't have to believe it."

"And you're a singer too?" another one asked.

"Of course."

"How come I've never heard of you?"

"Do you listen to much music?" Ziggy stated dryly. Floyd, by that point, realized he would be getting no questions, and so sat down unnoticed.

The boy nodded. "Yeah. We have a radio. Hey, can you sing one of your songs for us?"

The rest of the gang grew excited at the thought, but Ziggy shook his head. "Not without my guitar I can't."

"Oh, please," Floyd spoke up from the floor. "You sang one of your songs today without your guitar."

"That was for you and Rael," Ziggy said. "That's different."

"Pleeeeeeeease can you sing a song?" the gang begged. Ziggy looked towards Michael, who shrugged. "I'd love to hear you sing too."

"Well, which song would you like?" Ziggy asked. "'Starman,' 'Five Years,' 'A Space Oddity,' 'Soul Love,' 'Changes,' 'It Ain't Easy?'"

The room erupted with votes.

Rael, meanwhile, was downstairs in the basement sulking. There was no electric light in the house, and no windows, so the room was growing darker and darker and scarier and scarier. Rael paced the floor, trying to stave off his panic by plotting ways to escape. But so far, escape seemed impossible. There were no windows to break, and the door was locked. He couldn't even see around himself for any items he might use to break out. Rael continued pacing, hissing threats at Xyloto under his breath. _I'll fucking get you for this…_

The only light in the entire room came from a crack under the door. Through the door Rael could hear muffled voices in the outer room. Suddenly a flurry of feet running across the floor reached his ears. Then a loud voice shouted to him- Xyloto's voice. "Hey, Rael!"

Rael pricked his ears. He remembered when his gang leader, Henry, had first met him. He'd yelled "Hey, Rael!" in exactly the same antagonistic tone that Xyloto was using now.

"What?" Rael yelled back warily. He climbed the stairs up to the door and stared at Xyloto's feet from between the crack.

He could hear a smug smile in Xyloto's voice. "We're going on a raid- and we're not including you!"

"We don't fucking care!" Rael shouted. "We're not a part of your gang."

"Oh, you do care," Xyloto simpered. "Wouldn't you love to paint graffiti on the streets all night?"

_Graffitti… _The gang was going on a spray-paint raid! Rael hadn't been on one of those in forever. He hit the door. "Shut up!"

"No," Xyloto teased. "We're going to stay out aaaaallll night. We won't even think of poor Rael, stuck here alone in the dark, without paint, without a friend in sight. No, we won't even mention you."

Rael stood up and banged on the door. "Let us out!" he yelled in between beats. A new voice came in on the scene outside.

"Xyloto, what are you doing?"

"Just talking to the prisoner," he said innocently.

The new voice was full of disapproval. "If you say anything insulting to him, I will insult you in return."

"Come on, I was just having some fun," Xyloto groaned. Rael screamed, "No you fucking weren't! He was mocking us!"

"Give it up, Xyloto," the new voice said. "There's nothing to do but get ready for the raid."

"Okay." Both men departed, and Rael slunk back down the stairs, tired. He curled himself into a ball in the darkest corner of the room and closed his eyes, trying to tell himself that he wasn't there. But oh, how he would have loved to go on a spray-paint raid…

Rael rocked himself back and forth, fighting his fear. He wasn't in the dark… no, he was far away, in New York City, climbing out of the subway as the light of morning broke. He wasn't here… he wasn't here… he wasn't here…

"We want to go home," Rael whimpered to himself, and began to repeat it over and over in his mind. _We want to go home. We want to go home. We want to go home._

After Ziggy had sung 'Changes,' 'Starman,' and 'Five Years' to his impromptu audience, the gang had begged for more and more. But Ziggy had told him he didn't feel like singing more, and before the newly made fans had rioted, Michael had told them to go to their rooms and get a can or two of spray paint. "Don't forget the raid! We're going to have fun!" The gang had raced from the room, and Michael asked Ziggy and Floyd what they wanted to do.

"I think we're both still tired from our journey," Floyd said, looking at Ziggy, whose eyes were starting to look glazed and bleary. "If you don't mind, we'll just eat dinner and go to bed."

"Of course," Michael said. "Dinner will be served after the raid. I'll send someone up to bring you down."

"Thank you," Floyd said, and Ziggy mimicked him. "I have a question, Michael…"

"Yes?"

"Where is Rael?"

"Rael is downstairs in the basement," Michael said. "There's no windows and the door is locked. He's confined there until he makes the decision to join our gang, like you did."

Floyd and Ziggy glanced at each other before Floyd said, "All right. Goodnight and have fun on your raid."

"I will, thank you," Michael smiled as his guests ascended the stairs and returned to their rooms to rest. This time Floyd sacrificed the cot for his friend.

"Jeez, Floyd, you don't have to do that," Ziggy said, yawning as he lay down. "I mean, you deserve a proper bed too…"

"You call that cot a proper bed?" Floyd laughed. "I'm perfectly fine on the floor. You really need to sleep, Ziggy." Downstairs, as Ziggy had sung his songs, Floyd had noticed the lack of heart and interest in his voice, as if his mind was on other things. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?" _Okay okay okay… _his mind echoed, and he pushed away his memories quickly.

"Oh, I feel fine," Ziggy said faintly, his eyes closed. "It will all look better tomorrow."

That night, as Xyloto painted happily on the side of a building, a car came speeding out of nowhere, heading straight for him.

_Not again-! _Instantly Xyloto had dropped his spray can and was running away as fast as he could, rushing towards the grass. _Please, let them not follow me tonight… _But his prayer went unanswered as the car sped off the road and chased him down towards the trees. Xyloto hopped onto the shortest branch, hiding his glowing bracelet. He scrambled up the trunk and held his breath, praying that the car would just drive on by.

However, the people in the car noticed his bracelet and parked at the foot of the tree. They climbed out, laughing, and Xyloto stared. There were three men total, all of them clutching bottle of drink, and for a moment Xyloto prayed that they were too drunk to notice him. But then one of the men yelled, "Hey, kid!" and another one hurled a beer bottle at the top of the tree, aiming for Xyloto. He dodged it by ducking and clung to the limb for dear life.

"I'm gonna getcha!" the man taunted, and his two buddies laughed. They watched as the man tried to climb up the tree, while Xyloto moved up to a higher branch. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay up there. Many of the very tip-top branches seemed too spindly to properly hold his weight.

Then another pair of headlights came out of the night. Xyloto gulped, feeling his stomach lurch. Had they called backup? The car parked and a single figure stepped out, running towards the men.

"Hey!" the figure called, and the voice was that of a woman's. "Hey! You bastards! What are you doing?"

The men turned to look at the newcomer, and then one of them hissed, "Well if it isn't Miss Princess." They surrounded her, forgetting Xyloto, who began to sneak down the tree. "How would you like a little nighttime excitement?" They snickered, closing in on her, but she held her ground. "Get away from me, you creeps. I'm armed."

"Armed with what?" the men laughed, while Xyloto crept up behind them. He reached out, slowly, slowly… _now!_

Xyloto brought his fist down hard on the first man's head. The man whirled around, and the girl unleashed pepper spray in the second man's eyes. He howled and stumbled back towards the car while Xyloto kicked the first man in the groin. He fell to the ground, moaning. The third man charged them, but Xyloto darted out of the way, causing him to collide with the car. The girl grabbed his hand. "Run!" Together, Xyloto and the girl hurried into her car. She revved up the engine and drove away, back to the street.

Xyloto was the first to speak. "You saved me."

"Of course. Those men were being complete jerks." She kept her eyes on the road.

"What's your name?" Xyloto asked, in awe of the woman who had fought off three men.

"Mylo," she answered, settling her shoulders. "Yes, I know that's a boy's name, but it's spelled with a Y."

Xyloto cracked a grin. "I'm Xyloto. It's spelled with a Y too."

Mylo laughed, then pulled up by the curb. "I guess I can let you off now?"

"Wait," Xyloto said. "What are you doing here? Are you one of them?"

"One of those bastards? I don't think so." Mylo looked over at Xyloto. "Where are you from?"

"Here," Xyloto answered. "I live with… those people." He pointed at the window as members of his gang began running towards the car.

Mylo unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door, while Xyloto got out of the side door. The gang raced up and surrounded Xyloto. "Dude, I saw what happened! You totally got run off the road! Who's that chick?"

"My name is Mylo, and I saved his life," Mylo said proudly. She couldn't believe it- she had actually gotten to her destination! These were the glowing boys she had seen last night. The gang sized her up and down, taking in every detail.

"She's kinda hot," someone said, and Xyloto groaned. "Oh shut up!"

"You guys," Mylo blurted. "I've been looking for you all night."

They stared uncomprehendingly at her.

"I saw you guys last night, and I just had to come join you! I… I don't have that great a home life. I just want to belong." She spread her arms. The gang looked dubious.

"We'll take you to Michael," someone said, and with that they grabbed Mylo's arms and hauled her off. Xyloto took the time to close the car door.

Mylo was introduced the Michael, the gang leader, who called the rest of the gang to him and then led them back to their home. A storm was beginning, and a few boys groaned as they realized the rain would wash away their magnificent creations.

In the half-light caused by lit candles, Xyloto observed the woman who had saved his life. She had long brown hair and freckles across her nose. Her eyes were dark brown, and her skin was pale. She wore a black leather jacket and jeans, and carried herself like a goddess. Mylo caught Xyloto staring, and watched as his eyes darted away and his face turned red. He realized that his friends had been right- she _was _kinda hot.

"What brings you here?" Michael asked as each member of the gang settled down with a bowl of soup.

"I escaped my home," Mylo said. "I was living in hell, so I stole my parents' car and car keys and ended up down here. I was looking for your gang after seeing you guys last night. Then when I was driving today, some guys started following me. I lost them after a bit, but they turned up again when I came into town, running Xyloto off the road. I saved his life, and now I'm here."

"We've never had a girl in our gang before," Michael said. "As a matter of fact we just accepted two new gang members today. Are you sure you can handle living out here?"

"Anything is better than living back there," Mylo said. "This is Paradise. I hated my life back there."

Michael nodded. "Well, we'll give you a room and see how you feel in the morning."

At that moment, two men walked into the room. They both looked far older than the majority of the gang. Michael waved at them, and then explained to Mylo, "These are our newest gang members."

"Hi," Mylo said softly. "I'm Mylo."

"I'm Floyd," the first man said, sitting down. The second man smiled. "I'm Ziggy, nice to meet you." He sat down as well, and they were given bowls of soup with spoons.

Thunder crashed along the walls, and rain beat down. Ziggy scraped the bottom of the bowl with his spoon. He looked much better after having rested. Floyd hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. He now looked at Mylo, curious.

"Where are you from?"

Mylo swallowed her spoonful of soup. "I used to live in the outskirts of a place called Suffragette City."

Floyd jerked into awareness. "Suffragette City?! That's where Ziggy and I have been trying to get to!"

"It's an awful place to live," Mylo said quickly. "At least the outskirts of it. Everything's gone to hell because of the five-year deadline. We're running out of supplies for everything and a hierarchy has taken over. They steal our money so that their city grows richer while us out in the suburbs starve. I know because I've felt the effects firsthand." Mylo stared down at her bowl of soup. "My father was laid off, and we've been struggling to get by ever since."

"I'm sorry," Xyloto said softly, looking at Mylo. She gave a shrug, refusing to meet his gaze.

"That's terrible," Ziggy said. "Mylo… Mylo, I swear, I'm going to make everything better. I'm going to save the world from destruction. They can't get away with this."

"Good luck on that goal," Mylo snorted. "Anyway, yeah, it's a shitty place to live. I wouldn't recommend going there- only if you never want to leave."

The gang was silent for a moment as Floyd digested Mylo's words, Ziggy thought of ways to save the Earth, Xyloto stared at Mylo, and the rest of the gang finished up their soup and contemplated on the fact that Earth was really dying in five years.

As the thunder rolled, a high-pitched wail came from within the building. Mylo froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. It came again, louder in volume, and she suppressed a shudder. "Michael, what's that noise?"

"That's our prisoner," Michael answered, not looking up from his soup. "We found him today along with our newest gang members. Whatever you do, don't open that door and let him escape, or you'll be sorry."

"He sounds absolutely heartbroken," Mylo said, listening more closely.

"Well, there's nothing we can do," Xyloto said. He traced the lines of Mylo's cheekbones and jaw with his eyes.

Soon dinner was over, and the gang members returned to their quarters to rest. Floyd crashed on the floor again, but Ziggy remained wide awake, having gotten enough sleep to recharge his batteries. He curled up on the cot, back facing Floyd on the floor, and listened to the rain pound on the roof. _Quite relaxing… I hope we can get out of here soon._


	14. It Ain't Easy To Get To Heaven

Chapter Thirteen: _It Ain't Easy To Get To Heaven (When You're Going Down)_

_The doorway opened up to a long, dark tunnel. He was apprehensive about entering, but she walked right in, lighting a candle and placing it on a candlestick. Together they walked, the blind person ironically leading, as the tunnel grew steeper and narrower. The farther they went, the more he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face, cursing loudly as he did so. She never once called to see if he was still behind her- he guessed she had excellent hearing and could pinpoint his exact location each time. He was utterly confused as to how and why she didn't fall over. _

_Finally their brief journey ended as the tunnel emptied into a large round room- a smooth cave. He checked himself for scratches and bruises- his jeans had taken the most damage, with two new thread-y rips in them. She waited patiently until he was sorted out, and then moved forward, walking him towards a huge stone throne. She motioned, and he sat down gingerly, wondering if she could really see him._

"_They're coming for you now, Rael. Don't be frightened." With those words out of her lips, she turned and walked gracefully away, her pale skin shimmering. He watched as the light was drained from the room with her exit until he was in total darkness once again. _

Don't be afraid… don't be afraid, _his mind echoed. He closed his eyes, trying not to freak out. But odd whirring noises surrounded him, followed by many other noises he had no way of explaining. He opened his eyes, fear chilling him to the marrow and gluing him to his seat. He opened his mouth, trying to scream, but nothing came out. His palms began to sweat, and his heart beat faster and faster. _Get me out get me out get me out…

Rael woke suddenly with a start to find that he was still in darkness. It only took a second for panic to register. He was on his feet and up the stairs in seconds, banging wildly on the door. "LET US OUT! LET US OUT!" he screamed, giving in completely to his fear.

Mylo happened to be walking by the door at that exact moment, having woken up early and decided to go exploring. She heard bloodcurdling screams of "LET US OUT!" Chilled, Mylo knelt by the door and called through it. "Who's in there?"

"US!" Rael shrieked. "LET US OUT! LET US OUT!"

Mylo remembered- this was the prisoner that the gang had taken captive. Her heart ached. "I can't. You're not supposed to be let out."

"AAAAAAAAAAHHH! LET US OUT!" Rael continued to beat against the door, screaming himself hoarse. Mylo stroked the door's wood. "Calm down! Can you hear me? Just take deep breaths…"

If Rael could hear Mylo, he gave no indication. He didn't cease in his door-pounding until Mylo got to her feet and walked away, disturbed. She needed to find Michael.

"NO!" Rael yelled. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING? DON'T LEAVE US HERE!"

Mylo walked briskly away, into the main room. It was just her luck that she wasn't the only person up at this hour. A few boys sat around the table idly, Michael and Xyloto included with them.

Mylo approached the table, and Xyloto looked up at her, instantly alarmed. What had happened to her? Mylo's eyes were wide, as if in a trance, and she was shaking slightly. Seeing that Xyloto's attention had drifted, Michael turned and caught sight of Mylo as well. "Good morning Mylo. What's wrong?"

"It's the prisoner," Mylo said, and Xyloto sighed loudly. "I walked past the door and heard him screaming for help. He sounded terrified. I… I was wondering if you could go check on him? There might be something wrong."

"We're not letting him out, if that's what you're asking," Michael said. "I'll go see what's wrong." He left the table and walked out into the hallway, Mylo following him. Xyloto got up too and trailed Mylo as she walked.

Back by the basement door, Rael was still throwing himself against it and screaming, although his voice was quickly growing weak. There had to be someone out there who wanted to help him… please…

Footsteps alerted him to a new presence in the hall. The voice of the gang's leader carried through the door. "Rael? Are you all right?"

Rael sunk to his knees and peered out through the crack under the door, craving the precious light. "No," he said, trying to hide his fear from Michael and pull himself together. "We can't stand it in the dark! Please let us out!"

"Do you have more prisoners down there?" Mylo asked, but Michael shook his head. "It's a habit of his." Returning his attention to Rael, he said, "I'm sorry, but we can't let you out until you've joined our gang."

Rael growled, giving the door a slap. He wouldn't allow himself to become a member of the gang, but at the same time he couldn't take another minute in the dark. He was sure he'd go raving insane if he stayed down there.

"Then can we have a light?" Rael begged desperately. "Please… there has to be a lantern around somewhere!"

"There are some lanterns and some flashlights," Michael said. "I'll get you one." He hurried off, and Rael was left alone in the dark, listening to Mylo and Xyloto speak and fighting the fear that was gnawing into him.

"Filthy half-breed," Xyloto scoffed. "He doesn't deserve a flashlight." At the sound of the insult, Rael lost his wits and began banging against the door once more, howling. He had to get through to Xyloto… His entire being was consumed with the desire to wrap his hands around Xyloto's neck and squeeze the life out of him, with no one in his way this time…

Xyloto laughed at the sound of Rael's attempts at breaking free. "You'll never get out without a key, _Rael!" _He waited for Mylo to laugh with him, but she stared instead with a shocked expression on her face.

"Xyloto, it's not polite to call someone a half-breed," she said.

"Why not?" Xyloto shrugged. "He is one."

"There are plenty of better words to use if you have to mention it at all," Mylo said. "And it's not polite to discriminate against him. How would you feel if someone insulted you for being white, or having green eyes?" She was starting to get worked up now. "You don't just treat others like they're dirt because they're not like you! We are all equal. We may not be the same gender, race, or of the same mentality, but that's no reason for others to hate us!"

"But-" Xyloto began, but was stopped when Michael came through, carrying a flashlight in his hand. He opened the door to the basement, and Rael got one glimpse of precious, precious light before the pain caught up with him and he screamed, covering his eyes with his hands. The light had burned into his retinas, scalding them. It felt like being a Slipperman again.

"Here's your flashlight," Michael said. Rael dared to slide his hand off of his eyes and squint painfully at Michael. The leader offered him a flashlight, and Rael took it, yelling, "Shut that damn door!" The door swung closed, and Rael pressed his back to the wall and turned on the flashlight, praying that it would work. His entire body went limp with relief when a thin yellow band of light shot out of the flashlight, illuminating his surroundings. It was so beautiful that Rael nearly cried.

"Mylo," Xyloto started to say again when Michael was gone, but she turned her back on him. Sighing, Xyloto walked away, wondering how he could get on good terms with Mylo again. Mylo sat down by the door and murmured, "Hello?"

Within his cell, Rael heard a voice calling for him. He quickly composed himself and answered, "Yes?"

"I'm Mylo," a woman's voice said. "What's your name?"

"Rael," Rael answered. "Our name is Rael." He stared at the wall in front of him in wonderment, waiting for Mylo to say something in return. Instead, there was only silence. She had gone.

Ziggy and Floyd awoke in higher spirits than they had been in the night before. Ziggy in particular was happy, and spun around the room giggling while Floyd washed up in the bathroom. His back ached from sleeping on the wood floor all night, and he wasn't quite in the mood for silliness. "Ziggy, what are you doing?"

"Nothing," Ziggy said, stopping his motion. "Just having a bit of fun! Come on, Floyd." He entered the bathroom and tugged on Floyd's unwilling hands.

"I'm a married man, Ziggy, we can't be dancing like this," Floyd said, only half-joking. He untangled Ziggy's grip and backed away, but Ziggy remained hovering by the door with a grin on his face. He spread his arms wide. "It's going to be a lovely day!"

Floyd couldn't help but laugh at Ziggy's enthusiasm. He walked out of the bathroom, and Ziggy bounded along after him like a young child. "Remind me," Floyd said, "how old are you again?"

"Much, much older than you!" Ziggy said. "A few million Earth years, and even more in Martian years."

Floyd stopped dead, hiding his shock. Ziggy only looked to be in his twenties, and here he was saying that he was a million years old! Though it shouldn't have been surprising, seeing as Ziggy claimed to be from Mars from before it had died, and it had been an inactive planet for all of Earth's history. It gave Floyd a start to imagine that Ziggy had been up in space for all those years, watching the Earth grow. It also meant that Martian technology was much more advanced than human technology. But how had he managed to live so long?

"So how long is a Martian year?" Floyd asked, pretending not to be shaken.

Ziggy didn't seem to be fooled. "About two, or one and half, of your years. It doesn't evenly fit into your time."

"Martian technology must have been quite advanced for you to have been in space throughout the formation of our planet," Floyd said. "We were discovering fire while you were zooming around having space adventures."

"They weren't exactly adventures," Ziggy said. "And I wasn't exactly around for that long. Mars has been around longer than Earth, it's true, but Mars died around your prehistoric era. I guess that is a long time, but it's not as if I watched Earth being created while I was in space."

Floyd was tempted to ask what it had been like in space, but he held his tongue in favor of another question. "Ziggy, how are you able to speak English so perfectly? And with a British accent? Did that come from picking up radio waves around Earth?"

"Oh, now you're interrogating me," Ziggy laughed. "Just like humans supposedly do to aliens! Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not speaking English, and this is not a British accent."

"What are you talking about?" Floyd said.

"I mean, the language of the place I come from on Mars and the language of Britain are exactly the same. Not only that, but our accents are the same too. I've heard more languages on my planet, and they resemble other languages on Earth, too. France, for example, has a remarkably similar language to the language of a place on Mars. I could probably speak that language to perfection here because I learned it in school."

"So what-" Floyd began, but was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Michael was at the door. "Hey, guys. "You're wanted downstairs- it's breakfast time."

"Okay!" Ziggy exclaimed, rushing out the door, and Floyd shook his head. _What a silly man. _What a silly, intriguing man. He slowly exited the room.

The typical life of the gang turned out to be very un-gang-like. After breakfast, they all joined together to wash the dishes, and then Michael gave out orders for the day. He split the gang into groups of three and handed out assignments. "Group number one, you get to go scavenging for supplies. Make sure you pick up Mylo's car with you. Group number two, you guys clean house. Group number three, come to me for lessons." Floyd was placed in group number two, which suited him well, as he was used to doing work around the house. Ziggy was put into group one, alongside Mylo and Xyloto. They exited into daylight, and Ziggy took in all the splendor of the streets around him. He turned and observed the house from the outside for the first time- he had been feeling too dejected to get a close look at it yesterday.

To Ziggy's surprise, the house was completely covered in graffiti. Messages sprang out wildly at him. _Tonight the streets are ours… All the boys, all the girls, all the madness… Once upon a time. _The colors were varied from purple to red to silver to green. Ziggy instantly loved the house with every part of his soul. _If only I had clothes that looked like that…_

"Hey, what are you waiting for?" one of the boys called. Ziggy spun back around on his heel and smiled at the group. "Don't worry, I'm coming!" He bounded back to them and fell into place as the group began to walk.

As Floyd worked around the house with his group, he got to know a little more about the people who inhabited it and their daily life. In return, the boys asked him for his life story. Floyd merely smiled politely and shook his head. The boys then turned their questions towards Ziggy. "How did you meet him? Has he told you what it's like on Mars? Can he really save the world?"

"I met him when his spacecraft landed in my backyard," Floyd said. "I told you that. He hasn't mentioned much about Mars to me, and as far as I know, he's going to try with all his might to save Earth."

The group made impressed "mmm" sounds, and one of the boys blurted, "I believe he can do it! Go Ziggy!" The rest of the group quickly took up the chant. "Go Ziggy! Go Ziggy!"

"Wait 'til he gets back to cheer him on," Floyd said, setting the hammer he'd been using down with a slight shudder. The group assented to that, nodding. "When he gets back can he sing a song for us?" one of them asked.

"You'll have to ask him." Floyd waved a hand. "Now we're all done patching up that leak. Where do we go now?"

From his day on the job, Floyd had learned that this was a typical day in the life of the gang. The groups rotated every day, from "scavenging"- aka, outdoor recreation, while looking for supplies if the gang was running low on them- to housework like Floyd was doing, to a makeshift school taught by Michael, the oldest of them all. He was about to turn twenty, one of the gang members told Floyd. They seemed impressed with him, that someone could live that long on the streets without a family. Most of the boys themselves were ages thirteen to sixteen. After lunch, the gang was free to do whatever they wanted, and nighttime was when the spray paint raids took place.

"We used to go farther out," one of the gang members said as he, Floyd, and the rest of the group descended the stairs. "We'd take long trips to New York City, half of us going with Michael while the other half stayed home. He said he wanted us to see the world, that he didn't want us to grow up with a narrow view of the world. But now we can't go out that far anymore, because of the cars. Whenever we try to leave, the cars chase us, trying to kill us. It's almost like they're staked out here, just waiting for their chance."

"So you're isolated from the world," Floyd said. He wondered how he was ever going to get out of there. He and Ziggy needed to find a city to rebuild their lives in- Ziggy needed to regain his music career, and Floyd needed to get back in touch with Audrey. But how were they to leave if the town was surrounded, and they were members of the gang now?

The boy shrugged. "Yeah, but it's no biggie. Actually it's kind of nice here, being isolated. This is like… our world."

"Yeah," another boy agreed. "This place is my world, man. I couldn't live without any of you."

Alone in the no-longer-quite-so-dark, with nothing to do, Rael began flickering his flashlight on and off out of boredom, trying to see how much darkness he could stand. After the spots faded from his eyes, the dark began to close in on Rael, smothering him. He turned the flashlight back on in a panic and stared disappointedly at it. This was an inconvenient fear to have, when it was dark for at least half of the day every day.

Rael turned the flashlight towards the wall and held his hand in front of it, making shadows form. He tried a bunny, since it was the easiest to make, and then a dog, barking under his breath for sound effects. What noises did rabbits make, though…? Rael wished he had two free hands so that the rabbit and the dog could interact. He finally just switched back to a dog and moved it around the wall, laughing quietly.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside, and Rael instantly ceased his play, realizing how ridiculous it was. From the sound of it, there was only one person outside. Rael listened closely as the footsteps halted by the basement door and a voice called, "Hey, Rael, are you doing all right in there?" Rael sighed in relief. It was Floyd.

"Sure," he answered, getting up and crossing the room towards the stairs. "They gave us a flashlight. Everything's fine now."

"Was it not fine before?" Floyd asked, and Rael rolled his eyes. _Why do you need to know this… _"Whatever. We got scared of the dark."

"Have you gotten food today?" Floyd asked, and Rael shook his head, forgetting that Floyd couldn't see him. "No." His stomach was rumbling.

There was a pause, and then Floyd said, "Everyone else has eaten breakfast. Should I go get you something?"

"Yes please," Rael said. "We're starving down here!"

"All right." The footsteps retreated down the hall. Rael slumped down against the stairs and continued to make shadows on the wall, amusing himself idly while Floyd was gone.

It was going to be a long day.

Ziggy proved to be a very effective worker. He helped collect leftover cans of spray paint that the gang had left out, and was always the first to spot a potentially useful item- "Look, there's a lighter on the ground. I wonder who left that there?" The group was very pleased with his work, and ended up just following him around, obeying his orders.

The only two members of the group who weren't infatuated with Ziggy were Xyloto and Mylo. Mylo was busy looking for her car, and Xyloto was still trying to get on Mylo's good side. He scoured the ground with his eyes, looking for some kind of present to make her that she wouldn't spot first. Unfortunately, every possible gift was spied by Ziggy's eagle eye and ordered to be picked up, and the boys got their hands on them before Xyloto could. To make matters worse, Mylo wasn't saying a word to him, even though he'd inched up until they were walking side by side.

"Are you all right?" Xyloto eventually dared to ask. Mylo's face was cloudy, and she bit her lip as she scanned the horizon.

"Yes," Mylo murmured. "Just wondering where my car could be."

"This town isn't that big," Xyloto said comfortingly. "We'll find it." He was thrilled with the prospect of having a car for the gang. So what if it needed gasoline? At least he could learn to drive while it lasted.

However, after thoroughly searching every nook and cranny in the colorful town, there was no sign of the car. Xyloto even walked past the graffiti he had created the night before, and picked up his spray can, but the car was nowhere to be found. Mylo seemed deeply disappointed. Xyloto tried to comfort her again, but she walked away from him.

In truth, Mylo wasn't disappointed so much as disturbed. She knew exactly where she had parked the car the other night. If it wasn't there now, and none of the gang members had stolen it, that must mean that one of the people in the cars who had chased Xyloto had picked it up. It was a good thing Mylo had taken her purse with her to the gang. She shuddered at the thought of those bastards getting their hands on her learner's permit and her money.

"Looks like it's time to go home," Ziggy said, surveying the scene. "I think we've got everything we need."

"Race ya!" one of the boys yelled, and with that the gang took off, Ziggy herding them along. Xyloto shrugged at Mylo. "You wanna race me?"

"Why not?" she said, offering a small grin, and together they began running.

A stampede of boys, one man, and one girl showed up at the spray-painted house just in time for lunch. Mylo was openly grinning now as she touched the doorframe. "I win, Xyloto!" she exclaimed, and Xyloto's heart fluttered at the mention of his name. Mylo tossed her hair back, laughing in Xyloto's face. "You snooze, you lose!" Xyloto didn't care about the race. Mylo could have been insulting him all over the place, and it still would have sounded like music to his ears.

"Just you wait!" Xyloto threw back. "After lunch, we'll have a rematch, and you won't get away so easily next time!"

"Oh, I will wait. I will." Mylo gave Xyloto the thumb's-up and skipped through the door, still laughing.

Inside, Michael dismissed class and the group of boys on the housework pounded down the stairs to greet their friends. Floyd descended the stairs slowly and went for Ziggy. "How was scavenging?"

"Just fine," Ziggy said. "I rather liked it. How was housework?"

"The same as usual," Floyd laughed, and the words bounced off of his mind. _Same as usual usual usual…_

"Hey, everybody!" Michael called. "It's time for lunch now, so whoever wants to help out in the kitchen would be welcome to do so!"

"I'll do it!" Ziggy volunteered, and with that more of the boys clambered around- "Me too!" "Me too!"

"Okay, Ziggy, you come in here," Michael said. Ziggy gave Floyd a goodbye smile and entered the kitchen behind Michael, trailed by his followers. "I'm in the mood for cheese on toast. Have you ever had cheese on toast? It's simply fantastic!"

"No, and it's a shame- there isn't any cheese here to make it," Michael said.

"Ah well," Ziggy dismissed the thought. "We can make toast, anyway."

"For lunch?" one of the boys said.

"Of course! I always thought it was ridiculous to have different foods for each meal of the day. Breakfast's my personal favorite, so why not eat breakfast food all the time? Have you got any jam?"

The boys cheered, and Michael nodded, wondering what exactly Ziggy was turning his gang into. "It's in the cupboard. The boys will show you where."

After lunch was served and eaten with the usual gusto, the gang began to beg Ziggy for a song. Ziggy, remembering the night before, was reluctant, but the gang eventually encouraged him to just perform one song. "We promise we won't ask for an encore!"

"All right," Ziggy said. "Here's one I didn't write. It's called 'It Ain't Easy.'" He looked towards Floyd, his first true fan, as he began to sing.

"_When you climb to the top of the mountain- look out over the sea. Think about the places, perhaps, where a young man could be… Then you jump back over the rooftops; look all over the town. Think of all the strange things circulating round."_

As Ziggy got more comfortable, he closed his eyes to sing the chorus. _"It ain't easy! It ain't easy! It ain't easy to get to Heaven when you're going down!"_

The gang began to cheer, and Floyd sat back and remembered the first time he had seen this song performed. From the shy young man with raven tresses and faded blue jeans, preaching songs of hope to full clubs, to the charismatic showman in glittery costumes and bright red hair, exciting a stadium full of people, to the friendly alien who now held an entire room spellbound, Ziggy had gone through a lot of changes- and yet he remained at his core the same naïve man who had crash landed in Floyd's backyard. It was a shame, Floyd thought, that the plane had taken Ziggy's guitar down with it- the gang would have loved to see such a display of talent.

Floyd began to smile softly, unconsciously, as he watched Ziggy sing. He forgot that there were other people in the room. In Floyd's mind, Ziggy was throwing a private concert, just for him.

"_It ain't easy to get to Heaven when you're going down!"_

Before Ziggy had begun singing, Mylo had taken her leftover food from lunch and slipped off down the hall. She almost made it before a voice sounded at her back. "Where are you taking that?" Mylo turned to see Floyd, leaning against the wall. He waved a hand. "I'm just curious."

"I'm taking it to Rael," Mylo answered. "He hasn't had any food yet, has he?"

"No, I got him something about an hour ago," Floyd said. "No need to deprive yourself of nourishment."

"Oh, it's no problem," Mylo said. "I wasn't going to eat this. I'll go give it to him anyway."

She wandered on down the hall, finally stopping by the basement door. No sounds were coming from behind it. Mylo knocked on the door. "Rael, are you awake?"

"Yes," the voice came. "Who is it? And what do you want?"

"It's Mylo," Mylo said. "Remember me from this morning? I brought you some food."

"We remember you," Rael said. "We've already eaten, though."

"So Floyd told me." Mylo sat down. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, don't leave," Rael said quickly. "We'll take the food. Just open the door a crack."

Mylo unlocked the door and pushed the food through. She caught a glimpse of brown hands and blue eyes before the door was closed once more, leaving Rael in the shadows.

"You have nice eyes," Mylo said pensively.

Rael laughed. "Thanks. Everyone in the gang but us hated them. Made fun of us for it… We've always liked them."

"What gang?" Mylo asked. "Do you mean the one that lives here?"

"No, we mean our gang," Rael clarified. "The one in New York City. They're all dead now."

"Oh." Mylo was lost for words. "I'm sorry about that."

"Hey, no big deal," Rael said. "Some of them were jerks anyway."

There was a brief silence, and then Mylo asked, "What did you do to become a prisoner here?"

"The smallest offense you could possibly imagine," Rael said dryly. "We walked onto another gang's territory. It wasn't our fault though; we didn't even know there was a gang here, and we certainly didn't know it was Xyloto's gang. He gave us a scar a few months back," Rael continued. "Right below our right eye. He called us… he called us that… that awful insult you heard him use this morning."

Mylo sighed. "I know."

"We hate to be called that word," Rael enthused. He wasn't sure why he was telling Mylo this- in fact he wasn't sure why he was telling anyone this. "Before we joined the gang- that's our gang, not Xyloto's- they used to pick on us and call us a- a h- you know. They hurt us, too. Beat us up nearly every night. They said a bunch of other nasty things, but the first one was the one that really hurt us."

"I'm sorry," Mylo said again. "Why did you bother joining them if they were so mean to you?"

"It was the only way to survive," Rael said. "We'd have been dead if we'd gone off on our own. Besides, they did respect me later on. We got shipped off to some reformatory, and when we got out- it was just a year ago, come to think of it- when we got out, the gang was impressed. We made peace with their leader and he invited us to join. How could we say no?"

"I see," Mylo nodded. "How did you come to meet Floyd and Ziggy?"

Rael sighed. "Well, we'd tell you, but you really wouldn't believe us."

"I think I can handle it," Mylo urged.

"It involves cave creatures, women who are half snakes, monsters with lumps all over their body, and being castrated," Rael said. "Do you really want to hear about that?"

Mylo laughed lightly. "It's no stranger than having come from Mars."

Rael was about to speak again, but he heard footsteps in the hall, approaching Mylo. Then came a voice- Xyloto's voice. "Mylo, what are you doing out here?"

"Just talking to Rael," Mylo answered.

Xyloto let out a huff. "You'd rather do that instead of race with me? He's not going anywhere. Come on, let's have our rematch now!"

"Well…" Mylo looked towards the door.

"Go ahead," Rael called from behind it. "We don't care."

"Okay." Still looking over her shoulder, Mylo followed Xyloto through the hall, past the main room covered in Ziggy Stardust fanboys, and out into the open air.

Meanwhile, Ziggy had been talked into playing one more song.

"Just one more," Ziggy said. "But that's it! You'll break my voice if you keep taking requests. Besides, I haven't been on Earth as long as you. I don't know all the music you want to hear."

"Which one are you gonna sing?" someone asked.

Ziggy thought for a moment. "Well, I'd love to do 'Starman.'" He locked eyes with Floyd, sitting in the back of the room. "Floyd, do you want to help me out with this?"

Floyd felt his body go cold as the skeptical eyes of the gang turned on to him. He shook his head mechanically. "I told you, Ziggy, no one wants to hear me sing."

"Hey, I didn't think I could sing when I first came here, and look where that got me," Ziggy laughed. "Come on, Floyd! Just one song? I know you'll do well."

_But… my voice… what if they… and Ziggy… _Muddle thoughts flew around Floyd's brain, connected by a single thread of resistance. Ziggy's blue eyes gazed piercingly into Floyd's.

"I'll start the song if you want," he said. "Come on up!"

_NO, _Floyd's mind shrieked. But his feet disobeyed, standing him up and moving him forward, closer, closer, until Ziggy stood smiling up at him.

"I knew you'd come around!" he said. "I'll sing the first verse, all right?"

"All right," Floyd said faintly, paralyzed with fear. He listened as Ziggy started the first verse, sang, and moved on to the chorus. All eyes were watching him as Floyd opened his mouth, closing his eyes to try and dissolve the tension. He knew the song by heart- it had been Eva's absolute favorite on the record.

"_I had to phone someone, so I picked on you. Hey, that's far out! So you heard him too? Switch on the TV, we may pick him up on channel two!"_

Floyd opened his eyes a crack to see that Ziggy was smiling wonderingly at him. Emboldened, Floyd ran with the next lines.

"_Look out the window! I can see his light! If we can sparkle, he may land tonight! Don't tell your poppa, or he'll get us locked up in fright!"_

Floyd was surprised when Ziggy began singing along with him on the chorus. He opened his eyes all the way and looked at Ziggy for encouragement.

"_There's a starman, waiting in the sky! He'd like to come and meet us, but he thinks he'll blow our minds. There's a starman, waiting in the sky! He's told us not to blow it, 'cause he knows it's all worthwhile. He told me-"_

Ziggy cracked a broad grin and he sang with Floyd, and Floyd began to smile back. "_Let the children use it! Let the children lose it! Let all the children boogie!"_

As the song drew to a close, the sound of clapping filled the air. Floyd slowly came back to Earth- and immediately realized what he had done. _Oh my God… _He had sung in front of a large crowd, for the first time since 1981- five years ago. Furthermore, the crowd was comprised of people who might have heard Floyd's music before. It was equally possible that they hadn't- it had, after all, been five years since Floyd retired, and these boys were young- but he had heard 'In The Flesh?' on the radio in London recently, and 'Another Brick In The Wall' had been even more popular than that one… and the gang said they had a radio. They could have heard one of Floyd's songs plenty of times before. His cover could be completely blown!

_Oh my God… oh my God… _Floyd turned his eyes this way and that, judging the reaction of the crowd. The boys were smiling- they didn't seem startled, as if they'd recognized Floyd's voice. Floyd dared to relax, just a smidgen- until his eyes turned on to Michael, and his breath caught in his throat. Michael wasn't smiling. He was leaning slightly forward, his gaze deeply intent and fixed on Floyd. Immediately, Floyd knew that he had been found out.

Ziggy leapt up from his seat, turning to Floyd with a wide smile stretched over his cheeks. He leaned over and gave Floyd a huge hug. "Thank you, Floyd! I knew you could sing!"

"You're welcome, Ziggy," Floyd said, trying not to look at Michael anymore. "I'm always game for helping a friend."

The gang filtered outside to hold a running race championship, inspired by Mylo and Xyloto, who had been racing for the entirety of Ziggy's set. Ziggy traipsed outside in hopes of being the judge of the contests, and asked Floyd to come along. Floyd shook his head. "I'm a bit too old for that sort of thing."

Ziggy burst into hysterical laughter. "You, a bit too old! Talking to me, the million-year-old Martian?! You need to live a little, Floyd. You'll never believe where it might take you." With that, Ziggy was gone, and Floyd tried to escape upstairs, but Michael's voice called from behind him. "Floyd… can we have a talk?"

_Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God. _Floyd turned around, not sure what to expect. Michael peered seriously at him, waiting until he was downstairs. "Come on, sit down." He pointed to a chair at the table, and Floyd took the seat. He wasn't sure what his face was showing, but one thing was for sure- he had been found out.

"Floyd, you say you're from Britain?" Michael said, playing with his fingers while staring directly at his guest.

Floyd swallowed and nodded. "Yes, I am. You can tell that from my voice."

"And how old are you again?"

"Forty-two," Floyd said. "Born during the Second World War."

Michael nodded. "And how long have you been singing? Sorry if I'm being nosy."

"No, it's okay," Floyd sighed, wishing he could dump the act. "I've been singing since… well, I don't know when." That was the truth- he couldn't remember if he'd learned guitar before being able to sing or vice versa. "I've been writing songs for a longer time." That was also true. He stared off behind Michael's shoulder and glanced at the boy's face out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he really did know who he was.

"Have you ever recorded music before?" Michael said quietly, still gazing directly at Floyd. Floyd took a deep breath, knowing that there could be no more lies now. He was certain Michael knew of Floyd's identity, and if not, he might as well help him put the pieces together. "Yes, I have."

"Professionally?" Michael asked, low-voiced, and Floyd's eyes turned back onto him. They stared at each other, aware that the truth had come out.

"Which songs of mine do you know?" Floyd whispered.

"'Another Brick In The Wall,' 'In The Flesh?,' 'Money…' I don't know, man, you were pretty popular here, especially a few years ago…" Michael stared intensely at Floyd. "So it is you?"

"I'm not Pink anymore, but yeah, same guy," Floyd breathed. "How did you know?"

"The voice, man." Michael rolled his eyes. "No one else has a voice like that. It was a dead giveaway."

Floyd nodded. "I thought as much. I didn't want to sing, but Ziggy insisted."

"Well, if you're looking for anonymity, you should be relatively safe here," Michael said. "I'm the only person in our gang who's old enough to remember you in your heyday. I was fifteen back then. I liked that kind of music. The other guys were kind of too young to be into that stuff. Sometimes your songs will come on the radio down here, but we don't listen very often, and they usually just play two songs anyway. Besides, none of us except me know what you look like. And you were singing Ziggy's song. If you'd sung 'Another Brick,' I'm sure a lot of us would have been very confused."

"You were a fan?" Floyd asked. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Michael nodded. "I was. It's kind of an honor to meet you."

"Don't say that." Floyd looked down. "So you know what I did during my last concert."

"I heard some rumors," Michael said. "Heard they shipped you off to the loony bin, and that's why no one's seen you since."

"Not exactly," Floyd said. "I just retired is all. I was a bit insane, I guess." He grimaced. "The less said about it, the better."

"So why are you traveling with Ziggy?" Michael asked.

"His manager figured out who I was pretty quickly," Floyd said. "He invited me on tour, and I just went to support Ziggy. Really, I'm kind of relieved the plane went down- I know that sounds awful, but it saved me from having to perform live again."

Michael snorted with suppressed laughter. "Your friend Ziggy seems to be very enthusiastic. His music is almost on the level of yours."

"His music is above and beyond mine," Floyd said, speaking with reverence. "I don't even deserve to be compared to him."

Michael gave Floyd a funny look. "You have a crush on him or something?"

"What?! That's absurd. Why would you say that?" Floyd protested.

Michael shrugged. "I dunno. It just seems like everyone else in my gang has fallen head over heels in love with him."

Floyd chuckled a bit. "Ziggy does tend to have that effect on people."

There was a moment of silence in which both men contemplated the power that Ziggy held over others. Then Michael said, "If he's here to save the world, he's not going to do a damn good job of it stuck here with us, where no one can hear his music."

"Are you saying you want to let Ziggy go?" Floyd asked.

Michael wagged his head. "I'd love to let him go, man. The world needs more people like him, especially since our planet is dying so soon. But it's impossible, Floyd. I mean, I really wish I could just send you on your way, but there's something out there. There really is. Those people in the cars… They're not afraid to kill. They stake out around here and terrorize the streets. I know this because recently I took a group of my boys out to the borders of this place, heading off on one of our three-day trips to New York City. As soon as we got there, the cars started chasing us. It was an absolute madhouse. The drivers had knives with them. They attacked us, and only three others besides myself made it out alive from a group of ten."

Michael, lost in the story, gave a little jerk as Floyd murmured, "I'm so sorry."

"None of us like to talk about it," Michael stated.

Another moment of silence passed, and then Floyd asked, "So this place was a ghost town even before the news of five years came?"

"Pretty much," Michael said. "This part of town was closed off due to a fire. Now it's kind of like a hidden community, just for us."

"When we were traveling here, we saw a lot of burnt out cities," Floyd said. "The same sort of thing was happening to London when we left. There were riots in the streets every day, and people were setting the buildings on fire. I think this is what has happened to America, only on a much larger scale."

"Makes sense," Michael said. "We don't have Ziggy to hold us together. Well, now we do, but he's not doing any good just sitting around with us."

"So let us go," Floyd said. "Please. We'll find a way to escape."

Michael shook his head sadly. "I'm not taking the risk. Not after seeing those drivers slaughter seven of my boys right in front of me." A touch of rage filled his voice, as if seeing it all again.

Floyd gazed upon Michael's face, seeing the face of a boy who had had to grow up far too soon. "Where are your parents?" he asked softly.

"Somewhere else," Michael said. "I'm not even sure anymore. I haven't had a family for a long time."

"Again, I'm sorry," Floyd said. "I lost my father when I was very young. I know how it feels."

"Thank you," Michael said. "The gang is my family now. They've managed to fill that spot quite well." He smiled at Floyd.

Floyd paused before saying, "So we're members of your family now?"

"Yes. You and Ziggy are the oldest family members I've ever had. And I'm sorry that that's all you'll ever be."

"I'm sorry too," Floyd said. "But I won't lose hope. Michael, I'm sure that those drivers can be defeated. Mylo and Xyloto took out three last night, or so I heard."

"It's not enough. They're not permanently down." Michael looked away. "Personally, I'd love to avenge those poor boys myself, but it's far too dangerous. At least the drivers have never attacked in daylight."

"Yes. Count your blessings, I'm sure you'll find more." Floyd stood up. "I'm glad we had this talk, Michael."

"Me too. It's good to not be hiding anything anymore. Family members aren't supposed to keep secrets." Michael watched Floyd back away. "And don't worry- I won't tell anyone who you really are, if you prefer it that way."

Floyd smiled at the irony. "Thank you. Not even Ziggy knows about it." He began to walk away, but paused and turned back. "Michael, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Is it really necessary to keep Rael down in the dark, alone? He's the only surviving member of his gang."

Michael looked on. "I wish I could say that it wasn't. I have no personal quarrel with Rael, but Xyloto does, and I'm afraid for Rael's safety if I let him out. He'd never be accepted as a member of our gang, you know that? They take such things much more seriously than I do."

"Oh. Well, can you at least try to make life a little more comfortable for him? He's had a hard time of it," Floyd said.

"I'll try. And I swear I won't let Xyloto anywhere near him anymore. By the way, what's his story?"

Floyd laughed. "I'd tell you, but you'd never believe me." He made for the stairs. "Oh, one more thing, Michael?"

"Yes?"

"I'd love to take over teaching duties for you. My wife has homeschooled my daughter for two years now, and I'm used to the idea of teaching others."

"Thanks," Michael said. He smiled. "That would be great, Floyd. But I thought we didn't need no education?"

Floyd paused before saying, "Never speak of my true identity again."

Michael, surprised, slowly nodded. "I promise."

After the Grand Racing Championships, Ziggy noticed it was getting dark, so he called for the gang to wrap it up and herded them all inside. Mylo was gloating over her best-two-out-of-three victory. "In your face, Xyloto!"

"I'd like to see how you do without those fancy shoes!" Xyloto good-naturedly taunted her. He didn't own a pair of shoes for himself. Still, the roads no longer bothered his bare feet- they were too tough for that now.

Dinner was prepared for and made, mostly by Ziggy and Michael, with the other boys making a mess of things, Mylo rolling her eyes at their perceived immaturity, and Floyd emerging from downstairs to curl up on the couch and enjoy the madness. Finally the gang carried out their dishes, and everyone took a seat at the table. They dug in as Michael asked if everyone could discuss what they thought had been the best part of the day.

"Beating Xyloto three times when we were racing," Mylo said smugly. "Heck yeah!"

"Sure wasn't the highlight of my day," Xyloto sighed. "The highlight was… going out into the town." _With Mylo, _he added in his head.

A few more boys spoke about the highlights of their day, and then it was Ziggy's turn. "Hell, everything I've done today has been perfect! I just came here yesterday, and already I feel like I'm home. You guys have done an awesome job at helping Floyd and I fit in."

Cheers rose up from around the table, and Floyd asked, "You mean to say you feel like you're on Mars?"

"Almost," Ziggy said, smiling softly. "If I had to pick, I guess it would be the races that I enjoyed most of all."

"What was the best part of your day, Floyd?" Michael asked. Floyd didn't even hesitate. "Singing with Ziggy for all of you." More cheers came, and Ziggy grinned and winked at Floyd from across the table. Floyd looked away from him, blinking.

After dinner, one of the boys asked Michael if there was to be a raid that night, but Michael said no. "We've been working much too hard recently. Tonight's a night off. Go enjoy yourselves, but don't leave this house."

"I'm going up to bed," Floyd said. "Goodnight, everyone."

"I'll come with you," Ziggy added. Floyd made for the stairs, and Ziggy ducked into the hall for a moment.

"Rael?" he called through the basement door. "You awake?"

No answer came from within. Ziggy shrugged and whispered, "Sweet dreams," before leaving the hall and following Floyd up the stairs.

Rael was in the midst of a dream-turned-nightmare. He was remembering every gristly detail of his castration and being a Slipperman- the lumps all over his body, the constant thirst for sex, how horrified and disgusted with himself he had been… His frustration with John, and how it had come to a head when John abandoned him. Never mind that it had been for the better. There was Doktor Dyper, looking just as creepy as usual and smiling as he polished his blade, the better for whipping windscreen wipers off. Then Rael was suddenly, blessedly human again, but he had no time to enjoy the fact before that _fucking raven _swooped down and carried off his wiper, concealed in a precious yellow tube.

But before his dream could travel any farther down the path of memory, Rael realized that he was not alone. A woman ran beside him as he tried to catch up with the raven. Her long legs flashed, revealing combat boots, and her dark brown hair flew back in the wind. It was Mylo, though Rael had never seen her completely, just her eyes and her hair and her hands. She stretched out her hand, and Rael took it, discovering at that moment that he was whole again. With Mylo by his side, Rael ran faster and faster, until he was flying above the ravine, holding onto her. The waterfall crashed on the rocks down below, but Rael and Mylo were far above everything bad, and were kissing like there was no tomorrow.

Ziggy sighed as Floyd lay down on the wood floor.

"What's wrong, Ziggy?"

"I really hate to see you on the floor like that," Ziggy said. "Couldn't you try to get more comfortable? I mean, I'm sure that the gang has one or two spare blankets or pillows downstairs."

"I don't mind it," Floyd said. "I swear I don't." He was lying, though, and Ziggy could tell.

"It's kind of you to sacrifice your comfort for mine, but it's unnecessary," Ziggy said. "We learned on the first day that this bed of big enough for the both of us."

Floyd emitted a strangled sort of laugh. "I'm not sleeping with you again, Ziggy. I've got a wife at home!"

"Why do you keep saying that?" Ziggy snorted. "You'd think you _want _us to be more than friends!"

"Stop it." Floyd waved his hand. "Michael was joking about that earlier. It's not funny."

"Well, you're the one who keeps _saying _it," Ziggy pointed out. "When were you talking to Michael?"

"While you were outside, hosting the races," Floyd said. "It was a good talk. I learned a lot about the gang."

"Ah." Ziggy stared up at the ceiling, not blinking or speaking for a long moment before saying at last, in a quieter voice, "Is there any way out of here?"

"Unfortunately, no," Floyd said. "Michael told me he'd love to let us go, but it's far too dangerous. There are people who come out every night and try to run the gang off the road. They kill anyone who goes out too far as well. It sounds horrible."

"How did they let us in, then?" Ziggy murmured. "Rael, you, and I all got into town just fine."

"Maybe they only trap people who are coming out," Floyd said.

"Hm. You can enter, but leaving is out of the question." Ziggy sighed and looked down. "Come on, Floyd, I won't bite. Just get in bed."

"The floor's not biting either," Floyd said. "Goodnight, Ziggy."

"Goodnight, Floyd." There was a touch of amusement in Ziggy's voice. "See you with a sore back tomorrow!"

"I'll prove you wrong," Floyd muttered as he turned the lantern off. "Just you wait."


	15. Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall

Chapter Fourteen: _Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall_

So the days passed by, and each member of the gang, be they Ziggy, Mylo, Floyd, Xyloto, or Rael, fell into place in the group. Each person kept secret thoughts to themselves, waiting for the day when they could reveal them, or shared them with others they had grown close to over the days.

Ziggy was feeling an intense frustration build up in him as the days wore on. He'd come to America to spread his message of hope, hadn't he? But now that the gang had taken him in, it seemed that message was abandoned, only spread through song to a small group of boys. And if they were isolated from the rest of the world, how could they continue his musical message?

This frustration seemed to creep up on Ziggy in the middle of the night. It would all be fun and games, and Ziggy could distract himself well enough, until the lights went down, Floyd fell asleep, and there was nothing separating Ziggy from himself. He thought about Mars and Earth and their differences, and how he could possibly get out and get back on track. Sometimes Ziggy would arise and go to the window and look out, longing for an escape. He never told anyone about these secret feelings. The only person who could understand had been dead for years. And Floyd was never in the mood to hear it.

It was only through music that Ziggy could unleash his emotions. Whenever Floyd was off doing something different, Ziggy would hole up in their room with a pencil and paper, wishing violently that he had a guitar with him. It was always a relief when the words finally came, flowing from Ziggy's brain straight onto the paper. He wasn't even sure where the lyrics came from, and supposed it was a gift from God, or what he thought of as God.

The gang asked Ziggy to perform a song for them every night, and Ziggy's couldn't stand to deny them. However, whenever he sang 'Starman' or 'Changes,' he found himself dying for his guitar back. The guitar had been almost like an extension of his arms- it felt natural there. Ziggy knew that as soon as he left the gang- when, not if- the first thing he would do would be to go shopping for a new one.

_We'll make it out of here, _Ziggy thought, lying in bed late at night listening to Floyd's deep breathing. _I know we will. We have to._

Mylo hadn't partaken in a spray paint raid since the day she'd arrived in the ghost town. After two nights of watching her abstain from it, Xyloto came back in from the raid and promptly asked Floyd if he knew Mylo's whereabouts. Floyd, who had never gone a spray paint raid himself, told Xyloto that he hadn't seen Mylo at all. She wasn't downstairs, and she wasn't in the basement- Xyloto made sure of that by asking Rael, who told him to fuck off- and after a fruitless search of the upstairs, Xyloto drew the conclusion that Mylo was on the roof.

He opened the trapdoor in the ceiling and clambered up, spying a figure lying down in the blackness. "Mylo?" Xyloto called hesitantly, and she replied- "Hi, Xyloto."

Xyloto moved forward and lay down beside her, staring up at the night sky. Neither teenager spoke for a long time. Xyloto shifted his hands behind his head and Mylo let out a sigh.

"Why haven't you come to a raid yet?" Xyloto asked at last.

He felt Mylo shrug beside him. "Not my thing."

"But didn't you come out here to join us after seeing a raid?" Xyloto persisted.

"Well…" Mylo paused. "Yes, but to tell the truth, those cars we saw on the first night really freaked me out."

"Oh, they're not that bad," Xyloto tried to comfort her, but Mylo knew he was lying. "If they're really 'not that bad,' why did you run away from them so quickly? And why were you about to be killed before I stepped in?"

Xyloto didn't say anything, wondering how he could sugar-coat the obvious evidence.

Mylo turned her head to look at Xyloto when he hadn't said anything yet. "Those cars are really bad news, aren't they? They were following me when I came out here. The drivers yelled rude things at me and kept tailgating me. I don't know what their problem was."

"That's the thing," Xyloto said, finally surrendering. "None of us do."

"How long have they been here?" Mylo asked.

"Only a few months now," Xyloto said. "Our last trip to New York City was last month. The cars came in after that. They've been patrolling our boundaries as if trying to keep us safe, but it's the exact opposite. If anyone gets too close, the drivers come out and try to kill us."

"You know this from personal experience?" Mylo questioned.

Xyloto suppressed a shudder. "God, yes. Last month Michael tried to take a group out to New York- a group of ten including me, not including Michael- and the drivers went on a rampage. They killed seven of us. I saw it all happen in front of me." He squinted at the stars, trying to forget the memory.

"Oh." Mylo's voice was soft and shocked. "I'm so sorry, Xyloto."

"They weren't my friends," Xyloto whispered. "They were my brothers. I have reason to hate those cars."

Mylo said nothing, but reached out and gently took Xyloto's hand. A shiver traveled up Xyloto's spine when he realized that a girl- this girl- was touching him for the first time.

"I'd be terrified of those drivers anyway," Mylo said. "So if it's dangerous to go out at night, why do you do it so often?"

"You don't understand," Xyloto said. "Sure, I'm scared stiff to go out, but that's the thrill of it all. It's worth it just to get out there and paint messages on the street… This whole town is multicolored by now. You should really see it sometime. It's our only form of resistance against the drivers. They can take away our power to leave, but they can't tell us what to do while we're still here."

Mylo contemplated that for a bit. "You're an artist?"

"All of us are." Xyloto smiled. "It's more than just fun. It's what we live for, to be able to express ourselves under the cover of darkness…You really need to get out there sometime. I'll make sure nothing happens to you." He hadn't expected the last sentence to come out sounding quite so heartfelt, but Mylo didn't seem disturbed by it. She kept her hand over his, a soft, grounding force.

"What happened to your real family?" Mylo eventually asked.

"I got lost. Or ran away, I don't remember. I only know that they weren't my real family. The gang has been better to me than my parents ever were." Xyloto closed his eyes, feeling the memories swell up around him. He knew every little detail of how he had escaped from the household, but wasn't going to share it with anyone, not even Mylo, on pain of death.

"Do you miss them?" Mylo asked.

Xyloto opened his eyes. "Do you miss your family?"

Mylo shook her head.

They remained in comfortable silence, and then Xyloto said, half to himself, "It's not all fun and games, you know. You need to be aware, Mylo, that there really is something out there and it's trying to kill us. Maybe you left your place looking for a better life, but I'm serious, it's not that much better out here either."

"Nothing can be worse than my old home," Mylo said. "Besides, I have you now." Xyloto's breath caught in his throat. "You've treated me so nicely ever since I came here. I feel like I can really trust you, Xyloto."

"Thank you," Xyloto said, his heart racing. He sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees, staring down at the glistening street.

"So we're friends now?"

"When were we not?" Mylo laughed. "I saved your life, remember? That entitles us to be at least _something." _She sat up as well, scooting into Xyloto's body for warmth.

"Right," he said, smiling back, and let Mylo lean her head against his shoulder. After a while, Xyloto spoke again. "Look at all those stars."

"I never saw a night sky this clear out in the city," Mylo whispered. Her breath tickled Xyloto's ear. "Back there, I used to lie awake at night and wish that I could fly up there… just float away, fly up to the surface and just start again… break off before trouble eroded us in the rain."

"That's beautiful," Xyloto whispered back. "But, Mylo, there's still nothing you can do about the trouble."

"It's not as bad here," Mylo said. "Even if those drivers are out to get us, we'll fight back. It's us against the world."

"Yeah," Xyloto said quietly. "Through chaos, as it swirls… it's us against the world."

Mylo wasn't the only new gang member who was holding out on going to spray paint raids. Floyd continued to stay in his room at nights, no matter how much Ziggy persisted. "Come on, Floyd, it's fun! You won't believe how exciting it can be. And you're not too old for it!"

"Yes, I am," Floyd groaned, staring at the ceiling.

"Come on," Ziggy sighed. "You're spending your night alone with only pornography for company." Floyd rolled his eyes, knowing that Ziggy knew that he hadn't even touched that drawer in the dresser after opening it on the first day. "If this is what humans do when they get old, count me out."

"Well, you can go have fun," Floyd said. "It's dangerous out there, Ziggy. It's not just arts and crafts."

"Well, if there's any so-called danger, I sure haven't seen it," Ziggy said. "Besides those cars, but it's really kind of fun being chased."

"You call that fun?!" Floyd blurted incredulously. "That's exactly the danger I was talking about, Ziggy! They're trying to kill you!"

"I'll just stay away from them, then," Ziggy said nonchalantly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I am late for a raid. And let's see if anyone cares that you're not going." He walked out the door with his head held high.

"Oh, for-" Floyd began, but cut his words off as Ziggy banged the door behind him. "For the love of God!" He got up and went to the door, watching as Ziggy walked down the stairs, turned the corner, and left him.

_Should I go with him? _Ever since Michael had told Floyd about the true intention of the cars and their drivers, Floyd had been filled with fear that Ziggy would be caught and killed. He was surprised to learn that it was Ziggy in particular he was worried about, and no one else. Surely the lives of the other gang members were just as important?

_Well, it beats another night of writing letters to Audrey in my head, _Floyd finally decided, taking a step down the stairs to follow his Martian friend.

The spray paint raids were well-organized by Michael. He didn't bat an eye at the inclusion of Floyd, continuing as he passed out glowing bracelets. "Crack it and it'll light up," he told Floyd, handing him a green one.

"Where did you get these?" Floyd asked, snapping the thing in half and watching as it slowly lit up.

Michael shrugged. "New York City."

With glowsticks wrapped around their wrists, each gang member then picked up their spray cans. Catching sight of Floyd standing empty-handed, Ziggy moved in closer to him. "Don't worry, mate, I've got you covered," he said, holding out a can of paint. Floyd smiled and nodded at him as Michael led the gang out the door and into the night.

Once underneath the sky, the well-organized feel of the raid split up as the boys scattered in all directions, running off to find some aspect of the town that wasn't completely painted over. Floyd, not sure what to do, turned to Ziggy, who beckoned him forward. "Come on, let's go this way. There's an entire wall that hasn't been hit yet, and I staked my claim on it last night."

Floyd followed Ziggy as the latter rushed through the night, his glowstick bracelet the only visible part of him. The two ended up behind a small building, what used to be a house. Ziggy pointed. "Right there, on the left wall. It's a bit crumbled, but just perfect for what I've got in mind." He approached the wall aiming his spray can like a gun, and Floyd watched as a long stream of paint shot out of the can, hissing as it hit the wall. With a well-practiced hand, Ziggy wrote the words:

THE STARMAN LIVES.

Floyd felt the breath leave his lungs as Ziggy signed it- Z.S.- and admired his handiwork for a few moments before turning back to look at Floyd. "What do you think?"

"I think it's beautiful," Floyd said, clearing his throat. "Honestly, I do."

"Thank you," Ziggy smiled. He held the can out. "Would you like to try now?"

Floyd swallowed, nodding, and took the can, although in his mind he wondered how he was going to top Ziggy's message. He shook the can for a long time, trying to think of the exact words to use. Finally they came out in a rush, and Floyd aimed for the area above Ziggy's writing.

WE DON'T NEED NO THOUGHT CONTROL.

P.F.

He turned immediately back to Ziggy, who eyed the work with a befuddled expression. "Don't you mean F.P., Floyd?" he asked.

Floyd breathed a secret sigh of relief that Ziggy hadn't gotten the reference. "Oh, I guess so… I forgot."

Ziggy giggled. "Even you're not immune to making mistakes!"

Floyd walked up to him and handed the can back wordlessly. He couldn't believe that he'd just exposed himself like that. What if there was someone in this city who understood the reference, and knew what Floyd had done in his past?

"Are you all right?" Ziggy asked, suddenly concerned. He peered into Floyd's eyes. "You don't look well…"

"I'm fine," Floyd said, scraping his hair back. "Just… just getting a little chilly."

"Yes, I suppose it is quite brisk," Ziggy said. "Come on, let's go back, then. I've done all I wanted to do tonight." They turned their backs on the new graffiti and walked away, Floyd trying hard not to think about his previous actions. _You're just being paranoid paranoid paranoid_

That night as he lay on the hard floor, counting Ziggy's breaths in an attempt to relax and sleep, Floyd realized that eventually he would have to tell Ziggy who he really was, and what the message had meant. Even Floyd's best-kept secret couldn't stay hidden forever, especially if they ever made it into Suffragette City. There would be more of a chance of recognizing Floyd, and Floyd couldn't let Ziggy find out about his identity through secondhand gossip. And yet he staunchly refused to let Ziggy know anything about his past. It wasn't that he didn't want Ziggy to know, now- it was that he was afraid of trying to speak to anyone besides Audrey about it. How could he share such painful memories with someone who wasn't around to experience them?

_God, I miss Audrey._

Floyd let out a sigh, and heard rustling on the cot as he did so. "You're not really asleep, are you?"

"No, I'm not," Ziggy said. He propped himself up on one elbow, a shadowy figure looking down at Floyd. "Back problems keeping you up?"

"I told you plenty of times before, the floor doesn't bother me," Floyd insisted.

"Then what's eating you?"

"Oh, it's nothing really." Floyd sighed again. "I'm thinking about Audrey."

"Oh." Ziggy's voice turned sympathetic. "You really miss her, don't you?"

"Very much," Floyd murmured, looking away. Thankfully Ziggy didn't try to say anything more. He slid back down under the covers.

"Well, if you change your mind about the floor, I'm always willing to make room."

"Thanks," Floyd said, turning onto his side to get away from the piercing gaze of Ziggy's eyes. Even then he still felt the stare on his back, until Ziggy's eyelids dropped shut and he was asleep again.

_I can't get in bed with you. I can't get in bed with you with you with you…_

Floyd was afraid that if he decided to share a bed with Ziggy again, the strange, confusing thoughts that he had had on their first day in the gang's house would come back and haunt him. He'd been unusually attracted to Ziggy, more so than just an attraction between friends. He'd wanted to stroke his forehead, to take ahold of his hand and hold him until he was asleep. This was not an urge that Floyd had felt with anyone but his wife. It frightened him to think of the feelings that manifested in him when he looked at Ziggy.

_I can't be turning gay. I'm in love with a very beautiful woman. We've had a daughter together, for God's sake… _

So why did he feel so protective about Ziggy? Why did everything the man do amaze and awe him? Why did the sight of Ziggy's smile melt his heart, though he tried so hard to keep his attraction at bay?

Why did this have to happen to him?

_It's just you going crazy, at long last, _Floyd told himself. _You'll get over it as soon as you get in touch with Audrey again._

But what if he never got out of the ghost town?

Finally, Mylo couldn't hold her power against Xyloto anymore. With his hand in hers, she agreed to go on her first spray paint raid- "but only in the morning. I'll feel safer then." Xyloto, undeterred, could barely wait as Mylo got ready, lacing up her boots and asking Michael if she and Xyloto were allowed to go out in the morning. "Well, we've never done it before, and if I were you I wouldn't go spreading that sort of thing around to anyone else, or they'll all want to go," he told her. Mylo smiled, satisfied, and stopped in the hall to say hi and good morning to Rael as she passed the basement door.

"Hello, Mylo," he murmured, hearing her boots hit the floor, and envisioned her striding purposefully down the hall with a swing in her hips.

Xyloto was ready to receive Mylo at the door. They walked together, and Mylo let her hand stray to Xyloto's as she wrapped her fingers through his. They stared with wide eyes at the bright city, just barely touched by the sun's light.

"Look," Mylo breathed, and stopped Xyloto dead in the street so they could watch as the sun slowly but surely crested the wave of light and rose up above the trees. Xyloto couldn't speak for a long moment, his eyes trained on the magnificence. He hadn't watched the sun rise in a long, long time. When it was over, Mylo casually took Xyloto's hand again and walked with him. Though Xyloto knew of all the best places that hadn't been covered in graffiti yet, it seemed as if she was leading him.

They ended up near the park, and Mylo uncapped her spray can and shook it. Xyloto stood back, confident in Mylo's abilities to paint. He watched raptly as she sprayed in golden letters on the sidewalk:

EVERY TEARDROP IS A WATERFALL.

"What does that mean?" Xyloto asked when Mylo was finished. She smiled at him. "It means that we're just parts of a whole."

"Is that a good thing?" Xyloto wondered aloud. Mylo took his hand once more, staining his palm with yellow paint. "It's a great thing. By expressing ourselves as artists here, we are contributing to a greater good. It may seem to some people that life is pointless, that they're not getting appreciated for what they're doing. The truth is, even the smallest action can make an impact in someone's life. The smallest teardrop is part of a waterfall."

"That's a sad analogy to use, though," Xyloto said. "But it's very true."

"Thank you." Mylo took his other hand so that she was gazing into his green eyes. "We are doing our part here, Xyloto, by spreading the message."

"You say such beautiful things sometimes," Xyloto whispered, unable to help himself. He could feel that he was falling, falling into her willing body. She caught him and held him in place easily.

"Xyloto, I like you," Mylo said.

"I love you," he responded before turning his head and pressing his lips to hers.

Ever since meeting her, Rael had only one thing to look forward to each day, and its name was Mylo. After introducing herself on the first day, Mylo often came to eat lunch with Rael, or sometimes just to sit and talk. Rael treasured these precious moments with her, and was always angry when that damned Xyloto came in and broke the moment up. He could hear the smirk in Xyloto's voice as he hustled Mylo away- "Never mind Rael, now, I want to show you something…" Rael cursed at Xyloto under his breath and dreamed of the day that Mylo would be all his.

Over the course of the days, he gradually told Mylo his life story. He had never told anyone such personal things before. Rael described his earliest childhood memories, which John had given back to him during the integration- how his parents hadn't cared about him, always nagging and beating him up until finally he had run away. He told of how he had met the gang, who proved to be no less difficult than his family, beating him up again and leaving him in the gutter to die. He told of how he had crawled back to them, bleeding and sore, and when they had seen his determination they grudgingly let him into the gang, although he had to endure two more years of disrespect and harsh insults, most specifically the word 'half-breed,' before he was caught by a police officer and sent to the Pontiac reformatory.

Mylo listened with eager ears as Rael talked of his life in the Pontiac- day after monotonous day, alone and submissive to higher authority. After two years of imprisonment they had let him out, Rael said, and by that time the gang was in awe of him. _Rael got locked up in the Pontiac! He must be tougher than he looks… _Rael had made peace with the gang's leader, Henry, and from then on was a full-fledged member of their gang.

At that point, Rael stopped and smiled ruefully. "Now here's where things get weird." He then told Mylo of how he had been allowed to go on a fire raid for the first time, and how he had impressed everyone with his courage. Rael didn't seem to be afraid of fire, and it gave him a strange satisfaction to see it engulf cars and trash cans. He'd been hypnotized by the blaze, staring uncontrollably until someone had yelled at him to get out of the way. Even them, Rael had marveled from a distance, unable to believe what he had done.

"Then," Rael said, "we found the porcupine." It had been lying right there on the side of the street, and it looked so forlorn that Rael had picked it up and hid it beneath his jacket. That night he played with the porcupine, ignoring its sharp quills as it snuggled up next to him. Then Rael had heard the voice in his head.

_There's no one to blame but you, you know._

The voice filled his head, getting louder and louder until it was surrounding Rael. He had let go of the porcupine and backed away as it continued to level accusations against him. _There's no time for romantic escape when your fluffy heart is ready for rape! _Then Rael had seen his heart, suspended in midair before him. Next to it was a stainless steel razor, coming closer and closer. Wondering if he was hallucinating, Rael had taken a step closer, and romantic music filled his head. The razor made the first cut, and the pain was so great that Rael fell to his knees. _No!_

_No time for romantic escape when your fluffy heart is ready for rape!_

_No!_

"It hurt like hell," Rael said grimly, reliving the moment. "We fell asleep afterwards. And while we slept, we were given a companion- a brother known as John."

As the orangey sun had risen and woken Rael, he had turned around and seen a new face staring into his own. He sat up, alarmed. This person had dark brown skin like he did, only with brown eyes and curly hair. He also looked stronger than Rael, his muscles more pronounced. Though Rael should have been wary of this stranger, he wanted to know more.

"What's your name?" he whispered.

"John," the boy said. "I'm your brother." And from that moment on, Rael was never alone again.

"Where is he now?" Mylo asked. "Your brother John?"

"He's inside us," Rael said. "We are John. We are also Rael."

He told Mylo the story of his adventures underground, and how John had abandoned him to face strange dangers, the likes of which Rael had never seen before. When they were finally reunited, John only lasted a few more moments before leaving Rael alone again, refusing to help him relocate his yellow tube. Rael had chased "that fucking raven" out to the ravine, where he stood shivering and angry as the bird dropped his tube into the rushing waters below. He'd walked alone on the bank before coming to what appeared to be a way out- a skylight built in the air, which showed an image of New York City.

Excited, Rael had started running towards it. _I'm going home! _But then a scream pierced his ears. "It was John," Rael said, "and he was drowning in the waters below. We didn't know what to do. Sacrifice out chance of freedom, or sacrifice our brother? We did the right thing in the end, and leapt in to save him.

"We hauled him out on shore and looked into his eyes. But they were no longer the brown ones of John. His eyes had turned into our blue ones. In fact, he looked exactly like us. We melted into each other, and the entire scene melted into this purple haze. The next thing we knew, we were on the shore of a beach beside the remnants of New York City. And that's when we met Ziggy and Floyd."

Rael laughed harshly at the conclusion of his tale. "We guess you think we're insane now."

"I don't," Mylo said. "If you say it happened, I believe it happened." Secretly, she doubted that a story like that could be true- but it was no stranger than Ziggy's claim he was from Mars, or the reality that Earth was dying in five years.

"Thank you, Mylo," Rael said, blinking. At that moment Xyloto walked in and whisked Mylo away with a "Hey, Mylo, what are you doing out here? We're about to organize a raid in a few moments. Don't you want to come?"

"Sure," said Mylo, and Rael heard her stand up. "Goodbye, Rael. It was nice talking to you." The way she said it always put a smile on Rael's face, even though he was sad she was leaving. "See you, Mylo."

Rael's dreams had changed for the better. Instead of being haunted by Slippermen and evil doctors, they were now haunted by the beautiful (or at least Rael imagined her to be beautiful) Mylo. He would wake up sighing her name. _If only we could see her face, _Rael thought as he turned on the flashlight. _If only she was ours._

One night after a spray paint raid, Mylo came in utterly exhausted. She walked down the hallway, making her way to her room., but was stopped by a voice. "Mylo?" Rael had recognized her footsteps. Mylo retraced her steps and sat down outside the basement door. "Yes, Rael? What is it?"

"We haven't talked to you all day," Rael said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Mylo said. "I've been out with Xyloto all day. We just came back from a paint raid. I wish you'd been there. It was awesome."

"We wish we'd been there too," Rael sighed. "We love spray paint raids."

"So do I," Mylo said. "If only you weren't a prisoner… I'd love to paint with you."

Rael sighed again, and this time his breathing was more lustful. "If only that fucking raven hadn't stolen our tube, and you were in here. You have no idea what we'd do to you…" His breathing grew faster as he imagined Mylo lying next to him, massaging his body. Damn that raven! Damn it to eternity.

At once he realized it had become very quiet on the other side of the door. "Rael…" Mylo said reproachfully.

"What?" Rael asked, hopeful. "Don't you want to come in?"

"No," Mylo said, her voice hesitating. This was an awkward moment. She hadn't realized that Rael felt so strongly about her until it was too late.

"Why not?" Rael asked.

Mylo took in a deep breath. "Rael, I have a boyfriend. It's Xyloto."

Silence. Mylo dared venture on.

"We've been together for a few days now. He loves me, and I believe I love him. I- I'm sorry if I'm hurting your feelings. Please don't think any less of me for telling you this. I can't help the way I feel. I do like you a lot, Rael, just not in the way you want me to. Once again, I'm sorry."

Mylo listened with bated breath, waiting for Rael's response. Finally an oddly calm voice slid out from behind the door.

"We never loved anyone, really. Not like you. There was Marina, but she wasn't like you. There were the Lamia, but they weren't like you. You're something different, something special. We don't know if we can ever feel the same way for anyone else."

Mylo swallowed hard. "Rael, I'm-"

"Go have fun with Xyloto if that's who you want," Rael cut her off. "We have no problem with that. Sure, we hate the guy, but if it makes you happy, why the hell not. Just don't expect us to give up that easily. If Xyloto ever hurts a hair on your head, you know where to find us. We'll be down in this goddamned basement if you ever change your mind."

"Rael," Mylo said, trying to hide her emotion. "Rael, you don't have to do this for me."

"No, we do," Rael said. "It was your decision, remember."

"Thank you." Mylo's voice was shaking. She looked down. "I don't think Xyloto will ever hurt me." The words came out as a whisper.

Rael said nothing, but suddenly thin brown fingers appeared beneath the slot under the door. Mylo touched those fingers tentatively, and then knelt down to kiss them.

"Goodbye, Rael," she said, standing up.

"Goodbye, Mylo." Rael listened to her walk away. His mind was strangely clear and calm. _Thank you, John._

Night spread its dark velvet wings against the sky as the gang returned from their usual spray paint raid, talking and laughing happily. Mylo and Xyloto were the first ones in after Michael, and sat down on the floor as more gang members piled in. Floyd followed Ziggy in and took his usual place in the armchair by the door, while Ziggy sat down on a stool beside the table and waited for everyone to get settled in. "Listen up! I have a new song for you tonight."

The gang quieted, and Ziggy smiled. "This is called 'The Man Who Sold The World.'" Looking out at Floyd for reassurance, Ziggy relaxed and began to sing.

"_We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when_

"_Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend._

"_Which came as some surprise._

"_I spoke into his eyes-_

"'_I thought you died alone, a long long time ago.'_

"'_Oh no, not me_

"'_I never lost control._

"'_You're face to face_

"'_With the man who sold the world.'_

"_I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home._

"_I searched for form and land, for many years I roamed._

"_I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here._

"_We must have died alone, a long long time ago._

"'_Who knows? Not me._

'"_We never lost control._

"'_You're face to face_

"'_With the man who sold the world."_

As the last verse slipped out of Ziggy's mouth, he bent his head and stared at his clenched hands. The gang burst into applause. Floyd, watching Ziggy carefully, saw a shadow of pain cross his face before his expression smoothed out and he looked up. "Thank you," Ziggy murmured, smiling and brushing his hair back. "Thank you." Floyd wondered if the song had any personal meaning for Ziggy. He made a note to ask him about it later.

"Do you want me to sing anything else?" Ziggy asked his audience. "I'm in the mood for more than one song."

"Do 'Changes!'", one boy yelled. Ziggy sighed and shook his head. "All right…"

Just before Ziggy started the song, Floyd heard odd noises emanating from outside. He tilted his head and listened. Were those secret whispers that he heard coming from outside?

At that moment, Michael said, "Wait." Everyone looked at him.

"I think I hear someone outside." Michael said. He got to his feet. "Don't move, any of you."

The gang waited tensely as Michael opened the front door. "Hello?" he called. "Is anyone out there?"

Silence crept in and made its home.

_It must have been the wind, _thought Floyd.

Michael stood listening for a few more moments, and then turned and shut the door. "It's no one. I'm just being paranoid. Go on, Ziggy."

"Thank you," Ziggy said, and began to sing. "_Still don't know what I was waiting for, and my time was running wild, a million dead end street signs. Every time I thought I'd got it made, it seemed the taste was not so sweet! So I turned myself to face me, but I never caught a glimpse, of how the others must see the faker. I'm much too fast to take that test! Ch-ch-ch-ch-chan-"_

As Ziggy tried to move into the chorus, his voice gave out on the word "changes." Floyd was the first to react. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Ziggy said, his voice sounding hoarse. "Oh God, I sound terrible!"

"You've lost your voice," Michael offered, and Floyd said, "It was bound to happen sometime, what with you singing every night and all."

"Oh, goodness," Ziggy whispered, rubbing his throat. "I've never lost my voice just from singing." He mock-glared at the gang. "Don't try to break me again, all right?"

"Sorry, Ziggy," the boy who had requested 'Changes' spoke up. "I just wanted to hear the song."

"Well, if we lived in civilization you could buy my album," Ziggy murmured, smiling at the boy and standing up. "I think I'll retire for the night. Got to rest my voice."

"I'll come with you," Floyd offered, standing up and walking over to Ziggy. "Goodnight, guys!" The gang said goodnight back, and Floyd moved closer to Ziggy as if trying to support him. Ziggy rolled his eyes fondly at Floyd as he ascended the stars. "It's only my voice, Floyd, I'm not going to fall over!"

"Your voice might be just the beginning of a dozen other blowouts," Floyd teased as they finished climbing the stairs and entered the bedroom. Floyd sat down on the floor and stretched his tired limbs as Ziggy made a beeline for the bathroom, turning on the water and cupping his hands together to drink out of. After washing up, Ziggy walked out of the bathroom and instantly sighed at the sight of Floyd on the floor. "That does it. Get on the bed."

"No," Floyd tried to resist. "We've had this conversation before. The answer is still no."

"For what reason?" Ziggy whispered. "There's nothing to fear. I promise, I won't make any moves on you or anything. I mean, if that's what you're afraid of, you needn't even bother about that. And like we proved on the first day, we can both easily fit in the bed at once."

"But-"

"No buts, Floyd," Ziggy glared. "I know the floor isn't that comfortable to you. Wouldn't you prefer a real bed?"

Floyd thought quickly. What could he say that would get him out of this and not raise Ziggy's suspicions?

"That's not a real bed," he stalled. "That's a cot."

Ziggy exhaled quickly. "For the love of God, Floyd!" he murmured. "Stop stalling and get on the bed. Come on, do it for me at least- do it for the invalid."

"Invalid," Floyd laughed. "You've just lost your voice, that's all."

Now Ziggy loosened up a bit, biting his lip to keep in the laughter that would do further damage to his vocal chords. "You're such a hypocrite, Floyd. You said this could be the beginning of a dozen other 'blowouts.'"

"I was joking," Floyd sighed, and Ziggy responded immediately with, "I knew that! Now, stop stalling and just get in bed. Unless, for some reason, you're afraid of beds…?"

Floyd saw the chance- he could pretend that his past trauma that Ziggy partway knew about, the one that forbade him from going to concerts, was behind his refusal to sleep on the cot- and leapt at it, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Ziggy began shaking with suppressed laughter again. "God, Floyd, you're pathetic. You can't be scared of _beds._ I heard you with Audrey every night we were in your house in Somerset. Don't tell me you were doing it on the floor."

"Since when was this a conversation about my sex life?" Floyd blurted.

Ziggy cocked a nonexistent eyebrow. "Since never, but if you really want to talk about it…"

"Okay, fine, I'll get in the bed!" Floyd snapped, standing up. His heart was pounding with nervousness, but he ignored it as he lay down and tried to get comfortable. Ziggy was smirking. "Aren't I persistent?" he whispered.

"And full of yourself," Floyd said, patting the pillow and backing as far against the wall as he could. "Did you know that whispering is nearly as bad for your voice as shouting is?"

"No," Ziggy murmured, sitting down on the bed. "I didn't know that." He pulled his legs up and stretched out on his back, eyes falling closed. "I guess we should stop talking, then. Goodnight, Floyd."

"Goodnight, Ziggy," Floyd said, reaching out and turning off the lantern that was behind the cot. He curled up on his side and stared at Ziggy for the longest time, watching him breathe. The movement of his chest- up, down, up, down- began to send Floyd into a trance. He closed his eyes too.

Suddenly a warm, slightly moist pressure was applied to Floyd's neck. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at Ziggy, who was bent over him, kissing him down towards his chest. Floyd jerked and backed away. "Ziggy, I thought you said you wouldn't-" He broke off mid-sentence and blinked, realizing that his voice didn't sound quite right. As Floyd blinked, his real eyes opened, and he found himself still lying next to Ziggy on the cot, his breathing having grown more rapid while Ziggy's had slowed down.

_Stupid… _Floyd rolled onto his back and looked up towards the ceiling, trying to banish any thought of Ziggy from his brain. Why had he dreamed of that? Why would he ever want Ziggy to kiss him?

_It's just because Ziggy mentioned sex before we went to bed, _Floyd told himself. _You're irrationally freaked out. Calm down and get back to sleep to sleep to sleep. _He closed his eyes again.

However, after a long time Floyd found that he was unable to sleep. No matter what he did to lull himself back into that relaxed state of mind- counting numbers, thinking of Audrey, practicing deep breathing techniques- he was still wide awake a few moments later. Frustrated, Floyd rolled back onto his side, his wonted sleep position, and looked at Ziggy again, breathing in the now-familiar scent of citronella. "Ziggy, are you awake?"

Ziggy's breathing gradually quickened, and his eyes opened. "Yes," he croaked to Floyd, and then- "God, I shouldn't be talking. Listen to me."

"I'm sorry for waking you up," Floyd said, truly sorry indeed. "I just wanted to ask you something."

"What?" Ziggy whispered.

Floyd hesitated. "Well, it's about that song… 'Man Who Sold The World.' What does it mean?"

Ziggy didn't speak for the longest time before closing his eyes again. "It means nothing. I just wrote it down as it popped up in my head. Nothing worth waking me up in the night about."

"But it has to mean something," Floyd insisted. "You can't just write songs like that without-"

"Oh, you really are a hypocrite," Ziggy spat under his breath, his face hardening. "You say I can't write songs that 'just pop up in my head,' even though that's how you claim to have written 'The Final Cut.'" Floyd went cold. He had forgotten about that. Ziggy continued in angry whispers, "Did you ever consider there might be things in my life that are too personal for me to tell you about, Floyd? You should have considered it, you know. I can tell 'The Final Cut' is a personal song to you, but you lied about it and said it had no meaning. If you have a right to say that, then certainly I do too. I'm the real musician, after all."

He curled up on his side, moving away from Floyd. "Now if you'll please let me sleep. This is the first night in a while I've actually had a decent rest, and I don't appreciate your disturbing it."

Floyd said nothing, taken aback. Ziggy didn't say anything more. Floyd watched his back move rhythmically up and down, trying to recapture his sleep pattern. He had a strong urge to touch Ziggy, but resisted it with all the force and willpower he had.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Ziggy," Floyd murmured.

Ziggy said nothing. Floyd sighed and rolled onto his back, prepared for a long sleepless night.

Unfortunately, Floyd and Ziggy both got sleep that night. If they had been awake, they would have heard the voices outside, voices that definitely did not belong to the wind. They would have slipped out of bed to warn Michael when the voices grew louder, convinced that everyone in the house was asleep. "All right, so what's the plan again?"

"We're waiting for the sun to rise," a man told his group of followers. "They won't be expecting us to attack at dawn. As soon as the sky is light, we ambush them."

"Okay," the followers said. There was nothing for them to do but wait for the sunrise. The drivers had been very careful, leaving their cars a ways down the road so that none of the gang members could hijack them. They'd each driven in random, assigned paths all night, chasing the occasional boy and causing an illusion of mayhem, when in reality they were all ending up at the same place, intending to reach it just after the gang had gone inside. They'd assembled and walked to the house, huddling around it and lying low. There was a frightening moment when the leader of the gang had opened the door, seeming to suspect activity, but the moment had passed and he'd gone back inside thinking it was all his imagination.

The drivers had the house surrounded. They had gathered all the forces they could- five carloads of people, roughly the same size as the gang. They had weapons clutched in each hand, and most importantly, they were ready to attack.


	16. Major Minus

Chapter Fifteen: _Major Minus_

Xyloto awoke early in the morning- up with the sun, as usual. He stretched, yawned, and warmed his back in the light from the window. Today was looking to be a beautiful day. Xyloto went to the window- and as soon as he'd got there, ducked down below the window pane with a shock rippling through his body.

The house was surrounded by men in black. _The drivers_.

His heartbeat spiking and racing away, Xyloto slid on his belly across the floor until he was away from the window. _Did they see me? _As Xyloto slumped against the wall, calming down his frantic heart, a hushed whisper carried in through the window, and then he heard the sound of feet on asphalt. The drivers were entering the building. Xyloto shot up like a rocket and rushed noiselessly down the hall to Michael's room. He burst in on the leader and slapped him awake.

"Ow!" Michael exclaimed, sitting up and rubbing his cheek. "Xyloto? What are you doing in-"

"They're here!" Xyloto yelled, losing control of his voice. Michael jumped out of bed. "The drivers?" Xyloto nodded, and Michael swore, rushing to the dresser. "Damn it all!" Moving quickly, he tossed disheveled clothing to the floor while Xyloto looked on, the blood draining from his face, just in time to retrieve a large kitchen knife from underneath his shirts and socks. Michael hurried out into the hall and shouted at the top of his lungs, "EVERYONE WAKE UP! THE DRIVERS ARE HERE!"

Just then several of them burst through the door to Michael's bedroom, and Xyloto felt fear steal over him. This was just as he remembered- the drivers had knives, and they looked ready to kill at any cost. Michael's face was deadly white, but he still managed to give Xyloto an order. "Go back to your room and get your switchblade! Be prepared to fight!" Xyloto barely nodded at him before turning tail, kicking his way past the drivers in his path, and running at full speed down the hall. He lifted his mattress hurriedly and dug out the switchblade. Before rushing out, Xyloto knelt and picked up his spray cans as an afterthought. He knew he should go back to Michael, but his first instinct was _Mylo._

"Attack!" Michael howled, rushing down the hall. "Wake up!" The drivers were spreading out across the ground floor, and many had made their way upstairs already. Bleary-eyed gang members got the shock of their lives as their rooms were invaded by hostile men with knives. Xyloto made way for Mylo's room, his heart beating out of time. "MYLO!"

Down in the basement, Rael was awakened by the sound of footsteps running in the hall outside his room. He would have thought nothing of it, but he could hear screaming beyond the sound of feet. Then the basement door was opened. Rael was instantly alert, standing up and reaching instinctively for his razor. But there was no razor- Rael had left it behind in the dead New York City. The intruders ran down the stairs, calling, "There's someone down here!"

"Try to catch us, creeps!" Rael taunted, darting into the shadows. He had the advantage of being faster than the lumbering intruders, and the advantage of being adapted to the dark. As the intruders stumbled around blindly, searching for the man they had just seen a moment ago, Rael backed into the farthest corner of the room and searched desperately for a weapon of some sort. Aha, there he had it- his flashlight! Rael dashed out and whacked one of the men over the head with it when his back was turned. He fell down from the force of Rael's blow.

_Impressive, _Rael thought, weighing the flashlight in his hand. _Maybe John did contribute some physical strength to us after all._

But his victory was short-lived, as always. Rael's motion had caught the eye of the rest of the men- three of them- who came forward, knives bared. Rael tried to move back into the shadows, but the intruders charged after him, having gotten used to seeing in the dark. There was only one move Rael could think of to use at the moment. He ran towards the light seeping past the basement door, trying not to trip over his feet in the process. Sweet, blessed freedom was right behind that door. Rael cranked the door open- and screamed in pain as the light hit his eyes. He covered his face automatically, bending over, and the intruders caught up to him.

"You're not one for the light, huh?" one of the men sneered as they carried him back down the stairs. Rael thrashed and spat in their faces, but it did nothing to slow them down. The intruders pinned Rael to the floor, stomach down. He felt a knife prod his back, and stopped struggling. He had learned that the harder you fight, the less likely it was that the enemy would lower their defense. But Rael still screamed, his courage momentarily failing him.

"Don't hurt us! We're not part of this gang! WE'RE NOT PART OF THIS GANG! Please, for the love of God, don't hurt us!"

Mylo woke up to the sound of someone calling her name. "MYLO!" She sat up in bed, and a few moments later Xyloto burst through the door. "Are you all right?!"

"Yes," Mylo said, climbing out of bed. "Xyloto, what's-"

Her question was cut off as the screams reached her ears. Xyloto rushed forward and put his arms around her. Mylo could feel his heart beating wildly. "Mylo, we're under attack by the drivers. Do you have a weapon?" His voice was impressively calm.

"N-no," Mylo said, her voice shaking. For all of her bravery in facing the drivers on the first night with Xyloto, this was something different. She now knew that those men could kill, and that they wouldn't stop with just one body. Mylo had never been in such a dangerous situation.

Xyloto stepped away. "Well, grab your spray can! I can hear them climbing the stairs!" He ran and ducked behind the bed, and Mylo followed, picking her spray can up as per Xyloto's instructions. Xyloto hissed at her, "Get down! You get on my left- I'll fight with you on my left, hiding under the chair!"

Mylo nodded and crawled under the wicker chair that sat below the window. She had never been more terrified. Suddenly the door burst open, and three drivers dressed in black stood before them, armed with knives. As they rushed forward, Xyloto popped up from behind the bed and sprayed them with paint. "Yaaaa-HAAAA!" Two of the drivers were momentarily blinded, but the third avoided the spray and kept going, moving towards Mylo. Mylo panicked at that moment and tried to crawl as fast as she could out from under the chair. She could feel the driver moving faster than she was, kneeling down and grabbing ahold of her ankle. She screamed as the driver hauled her up the other way and slammed her against the floor, his hot breath on her skin.

"MYLO!" Xyloto shrieked as he plunged his switchblade into a hapless driver's chest.

The driver that had caught Mylo leaned his face closely to hers. "We have a lady here! The boys warned us about you. You're not from around these parts, are you?"

Mylo shook her head, unable to speak for the fear that was destroying her. She was close to breaking down and crying.

The driver nodded. "So they said. We found your car out here in the city and knew it didn't belong to the gang out here. You're one of us."

"No," Mylo said, her voice threatening to crack. "No, I'm not one of you. I will _never_ be one of you."

The driver laughed. "You can't deny your own upbringings! Do you know what we do to young ladies who don't submit to us?" He pressed his body against her, a deluded smile on his face. "We _make_ them submit to us."

Even if the driver hadn't been holding her down, Mylo still wouldn't have been able to move. So her worst fear- her fear of being taken advantage of as a woman- was about to come true. She opened her mouth to scream, but could only manage a whimper of "Xyloto…"

And then suddenly he was there, stabbing his bloody switchblade into the back of the driver's neck. The driver's body went rigid, and he screamed with pain. Mylo wriggled out from under him, and Xyloto helped her up. She touched his face, tears leaking down her cheeks. "Xyloto… oh, Xyloto, you're hurt…"

"Not that badly," he said, brandishing a bleeding arm. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," Mylo said, looking down at the still form of the driver who had almost raped her. "Did you kill him?"

"Stay there and I will," Xyloto said, moving back with the switchblade in hand. Even though Mylo would have loved to see that awful driver dead, she still turned away as his screams sounded across the room, sobbing.

"Come on," Xyloto said when the deed was done, touching Mylo's shoulder. "We have to help the rest of the gang!"

She drew her palm across her eyes and tried to quiet her sobs. "Okay, let's go." Xyloto pulled Mylo towards the doorway, and as they stepped across the threshold a driver out in the hall made straight for them. Mylo leapt forward and unleashed a deadly stream of spray paint right into his eyes. He screamed and fell to his knees, and Mylo and Xyloto ran down the hall together to find out who was still alive and fighting.

Floyd and Ziggy had no time to react before their door was burst open and several drivers rushed in, knives bared. Ziggy was the first to wake up, falling out of bed and leaping to his feet with hands in the air. "Floyd! Floyd! The drivers, Floyd!" He turned his words to the drivers themselves. "Don't hurt us, please!"

Floyd woke up, saw what was happening immediately, and got to his feet, barreling into Ziggy and pushing him towards the bathroom. "Ziggy, you stay in here! These men are dangerous!"

"No!" Ziggy cried. "You think I don't know that? You stay in here, Floyd!"

The drivers rushed forward, taking advantage of Floyd's turned back. They pried him off of Ziggy and dragged him to the floor. Ziggy moved quickly. He grabbed a shoe off of the floor- one of Ziggy's sparkly platform boots- and rushed forward, hitting the driver who had Floyd across the face with it. His hands flew up to cup his bloody nose, and Floyd was released, darting back to Ziggy's side. He too took up Ziggy's other shoe and leaned towards the drivers with what he hoped was a menacing look on his face. The drivers charged, and the room became absolute pandemonium.

Floyd would never know exactly how he and Ziggy managed to defeat five men at once with nothing but shoes as weapons, but the fight ended with all five men fleeing from the room, all wounded in some way. Ziggy was on his knees, curled around himself. Floyd went to his side and touched his shoulder. "Ziggy, are you all right?"

"I will be," Ziggy groaned, moving his hand away from his side. Floyd blinked and gasped at the sight beneath Ziggy's hand- his clothing and skin had been slashed through, and white blood was seeping through his fingertips.

"Ziggy, you're not all right!" Floyd wrapped his arm around Ziggy's shoulders. "We need to get you to a hospital-" He wasn't thinking straight. Of course there were no hospitals in the middle of nowhere.

"No, I'll be fine," Ziggy insisted. He pressed his hand back to the wound, holding the flaps of skin together. "Martians heal much quicker than humans. Remember, Floyd, when I crash landed on Earth and was wounded by the control panel, and the skin grew back? "

"But that injury wasn't as serious," Floyd said. He could feel the blood draining from his face. "Ziggy-"

"Just pick me up and put me down on the bed," Ziggy said. "I promise you, I'll be fine. You on the other hand…"

"What about me?" Floyd asked, following Ziggy's instructions. He nestled Ziggy close like a baby as he moved him from the floor onto the cot. Ziggy blinked blue eyes up at him.

"You're hurt too! You're bleeding from the shoulder."

"I… am?" Floyd reached up and touched his shoulder. His fingers came away stained with red. Floyd shuddered, his fear of blood rearing its head, and wiped his hand on his jeans. "It's still not as bad as your wound."

"Just get back out there!" Ziggy urged, and then the door opened. Floyd turned, expecting another set of drivers, but it was only Michael, though he was hardly recognizable at first glance. His eyes were large and wild, and his hands were stained with blood. "Floyd! Ziggy! Did you get attacked?" he panted.

"Yes, but we fought them off," Floyd said. "We were both injured. Ziggy's worse off then me-"

"But I'm going to be fine!" Ziggy insisted. "It's not long now…"

Michael nodded. "Do you have weapons?"

"No," Floyd said. "We used Ziggy's shoes."

Michael suddenly bent over, laughing madly. "Used his shoes! Ahahaha… Can you still fight?"

"I will help you drive these men off," Floyd stated. "Even without weapons." Ziggy, however, shook his head.

Michael gasped, "I think you'd be better off if I locked this door. That way no one can get in." He paused for a breath. "We're winning, I think."

"All right, thank you," Floyd said. "Lock us in if you want."

Michael nodded and closed the door. Floyd waited a few seconds, alert and wary, before he sat down on the bed and tried to calm his instinct to fight. Ziggy prodded Floyd with his elbow. "Look." He removed his hand from the wound, and Floyd peered down at it with surprise.

Where there had once been a long gash was now only a thin line of flesh, barely noticeable from the rest of Ziggy's skin. The only sign that Ziggy had been wounded was the white blood blending in with the bedsheets.

"What in hell-" Floyd breathed.

"I told you," Ziggy said, stretching out and tentatively moving his body to make sure the wound really was all closed up. "Didn't you see this on the first day when I came to Earth and was hurt?"

Floyd remembered the shock he had felt when he realized that Ziggy's wound on the first day had disappeared overnight. Somehow he had pushed the thought from his mind, unwilling to believe then that it had happened. "That's the same place you were injured, right?"

"Yeah," Ziggy said. "The impact of the craft landing threw me against the control panel, and it cut my side open. It's the same place where that driver stabbed me today. At least it's healed now."

"So, if your injuries heal every time, does that… make you immortal?" Floyd whispered, suddenly feeling that he and Ziggy had less in common than ever.

"Not exactly," Ziggy said. "I can still die from an illness. Essentially, however, we Martians are ageless. I'm in my millions now, but I've lost track of how old exactly because time moves differently in certain places in outer space." He sighed. "Not that it really matters anymore. We can, of course, die if someone stabs or shoots us through the heart. Or if we drown, or get poisoned."

Floyd pondered Martian life while listening to the sounds of the scuffle that was continuing outside. He wished he could be fighting with the gang instead of being pathetically trapped in this room. What if the gang lost the fight because of Michael's decision?

Seeing how tense Floyd was, and guessing what was on his mind, Ziggy tried to draw him back to Earth with a prompting of "Are you listening to me?" He himself disliked fighting and had only engaged in it for his and Floyd's survival. He couldn't care less about defending the gang.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Floyd murmured. "What is it? Oh, you can die?"

Ziggy nodded. "There are a variety of ways."

Floyd twitched, longing to break the door down and go out there. "I wonder- Ziggy, why do you think Martians have a longer lifespan than humans? Do they need one?"

"Well, usually the only reason an extraterrestrial, as you would call us, lives longer than a human is that its body is still following the time patterns of its home planet," Ziggy said. "Jupiter, for example, has years that are roughly eleven Earth years long. If any beings lived on it, they would age every eleven years, regardless of what planet they're on. I'm not sure why Martians age differently from humans, though, as our years are only about two and a half of your years."

"Are their living creatures on Jupiter?" Floyd asked, and Ziggy smiled and shook his head. "Not that I know of. The only other planet in this solar system that is possibly, currently inhabited is Venus. I know because I've seen the beings that live there- quite fascinating people, really. None of us understood their language, but they were very beautiful and very friendly. I always imagined I would travel to Venus someday and take one of their people as my bonded soulmate. That didn't quite work out, though, because the atmosphere of Venus is sulfuric and impossible to breathe, or to drive a spacecraft through. It's also because of that atmosphere that I don't know if Venus is still inhabited. The beings I saw on Mars came there many, many years ago."

"Creatures from Venus visited Mars?" Floyd stated, confused.

Ziggy laughed. "Haven't you heard my song, Floyd? 'Memory of a Free Festival?'"

"Well, I've only heard it once," Floyd argued.

"You're right," Ziggy said, wagging a finger. "I should perform that for the gang sometime."

"If there's any gang to perform it for," Floyd said grimly, looking towards the door. How he wished he could be fighting with them.

Downstairs in the main room, all was chaos. Michael fought the drivers with only an enormous kitchen knife and his friends at his back. He was intent on avenging those poor boys that had been slaughtered in the massacre so many months ago. The drivers just kept coming and coming, however- it was impossible to tell when they would finally slacken off in amount. And none of them were going down and staying down. Michael had lost count of how many men he'd stabbed by the time three drivers came out, carrying a fourth man over their shoulders. The man they carried was wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans. He wasn't one of them. They moved through the mass, unnoticed by anyone but Michael, who lunged forward, breaking past his enemies. "They have a member of our gang! Get them!"

Xyloto and another boy moved to flank Michael as he raced up and hurled himself onto the third driver, who fell to the ground with the force of Michael's tackle. The gang member in his arms fell to the ground as well, unconscious. Xyloto gasped. "That's Rael! That's not anyone we know!"

"We have to save him anyway!" Michael yelped as the third driver wriggled in his grasp. The second driver turned around and came rushing towards him, intending to bash his head in with the blunt side of the knife. The first driver lifted Rael again and made for the door.

"Xyloto, get him!" Michael yelled, rolling out of the way of the second driver. The other boy with Michael barreled into the second driver, knocking him to the floor on top of the third man. Xyloto did nothing, just stared at the first driver as he carried Rael away.

"Xyloto, what are you doing?!" Michael shrieked. "You're letting him get away with Rael!"

"Who cares about Rael?" Xyloto yelled back. "At least he's not kidnapping one of us!"

The third driver leapt to his feet, and quickly Michael plunged his knife into his stomach. The man howled and fell to the ground. Michael glared furiously at Xyloto.

"Everyone deserves to live except the drivers! Who cares if Rael isn't a member of our gang? He still needs rescuing! This is an order to go after that driver, Xyloto!" The first driver had dashed out the front door.

"Yes, sir," Xyloto mumbled, submitting to Michael's dominance. He ran out the door and chased after the man who had his own personal enemy. "Hey, you! Come back here!"

As the driver quickened his pace and Xyloto ran faster, he noticed that the outside was devoid of the cars that the drivers usually hid themselves in. This was a good idea and a bad idea at once- it prevented the gang from stealing any of the vehicles, but it also slowed down the drivers, who had to run all the way back to their hideout. Xyloto was injured in various places, yes, but he still had his speed. He kept up the pace as the driver ran, weighted down with Rael in his arms.

"Why are you running away?" Xyloto shouted between breaths. "Too scared to turn and fight me?" The driver said nothing, and though Xyloto felt he could no longer take the chase, he picked up the pace even more and began to sprint. That was when Rael began to wake up.

"What the fucking hell- WHERE ARE WE?!" he roared, twisting in the driver's hands. "Put us down, you fucking-"

The driver didn't obey. His car was up ahead, and Xyloto noticed it too. _I have to get there before he does… _He tried to speed up even more, but it was too late. The driver had reached the car and flung the door open, shoving Rael into the backseat, who was yowling like a cat. Instead of trying to catch up with the car, only a few feet away from him, Xyloto gave in to his exhaustion and bent over, panting heavily. He watched as Rael struggled viciously against his kidnapper, only to be foiled in his escape attempts when the driver slammed the door shut. He hurried around to the front door, and Xyloto saw himself in his mind making a brave leap at the driver… But he did no such thing in real life, and only stood staring as the driver revved up the car engine and sped away. In the backseat, Rael pounded on the windows and screamed, his eyes locking onto the form of Xyloto standing alone in the street. "Xyloto, help us!" However urgent that cry was, Xyloto didn't even move as the driver took Rael away.

Once the car was out of sight, Xyloto turned and observed the rest of the cars. Were they open? Could he drive one back to the gang? Never mind that Xyloto had never learned to drive. He opened the driver's door to one of them and sat down in the seat, placing his hands gently on the steering wheel. Where was the key? Xyloto checked the ignition and all over the front seats, but there was no key to be found. The drivers must have had the keys with them.

Xyloto got out of the car and began to make his way back to the house, his head pulsing with one sentence. _I failed Michael's orders. I failed Michael's orders. I failed Michael._

A key slid into the lock, opening the door. Ziggy and Floyd looked up, surprised. "You can come out now," Michael said quietly, running his hands through his hair.

The gang congregated in the main room downstairs to take a look at the aftermath of the battle. Dead men lay upon the floor, blood running freely from their wounds and soaking into the wooden floorboards. Mylo sat on the couch next to the other boys, without a scratch on her but still looking pale and shaken. Michael stood in the middle of the floor, watching as two boys hauled out the bodies of two others. Ziggy gasped and Floyd felt sick as the bodies were laid out. Two gang members were dead.

"We greatly decimated the drivers' ranks," Michael said, fury scalding his tightly controlled voice. "But we paid a heavy price."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ziggy whispered, turning his head away. Floyd set his hand on Ziggy's shoulders, also feeling like throwing up but still unable to look away from the bodies.

At that moment, the door opened, and Xyloto came in. His shirt was stained with blood, and he was breathing hard. As soon as he walked through the door, a look of shock appeared on his face, and he froze, letting go of the doorknob.

"There you are, Xyloto," Michael murmured. "We were waiting for you."

Xyloto, staring at the faces of his fallen comrades, couldn't say anything in return. _NO! No, no, no, no, no…_

"Have a seat," Michael said, and Xyloto moved mechanically over to the couch, squeezing in beside Mylo. He wrapped his arm around her, and she kissed him softly, trying to comfort him.

Michael raised his voice in a commanding tone. "We won the fight today, but it should have never happened in the first place." He paused. "We've tried to keep our location a secret for as long as we possibly could. I don't believe the drivers could have found us without the help of someone else. Someone in our gang has betrayed us, and that has led to the deaths of these two boys, our brothers."

The room rose with anguished shouts. No one wanted to believe that there was a traitor among them. Xyloto declared at the top of his voice, "I bet it was Rael! He's not one of us. He was probably working for the drivers the whole time!"

"How would he have communicated?" Michael argued. "There was nothing in the basement that he could have used to talk. We didn't find any recording devices or whatnot on him."

"But the drivers kidnapped him!" Xyloto said. "They didn't bother to take any of us alive. They obviously wanted him for something!"

"It was just a ploy, Xyloto," Michael said. "They wanted to trick us into believing that they'd captured a member of our gang so that we would be lured out of the house!"

"Why are you defending the half-breed?" Xyloto spat. "It couldn't have been anyone in the gang!"

Mylo suddenly felt very weak and sick. Words filled her head, words spoken by the driver who had nearly raped her. _We found your car out here in the city and knew it didn't belong to the gang out here. You're one of us. _

"I…" She struggled to stand, finally facing Michael. The room was still noisy with the racket of protesting voices. "QUIET!" Mylo screamed, and everyone shut up and looked at her.

"It was me," Mylo said, whispering. "I was the one who betrayed you."

Everyone was silent, and Mylo shivered and continued. "I didn't mean to, honest! Those jerks followed my car out here… That's why we couldn't find it on the first day. They stole it back! They must have tracked me down…"

"What would they want to do with you, though?" Michael asked.

"They're from Suffragette City," Mylo said, bowing her head. "That's where I'm from. They must be part of the hierarchy that took over after finding out that the Earth was dying. They don't want anyone to leave the city, just as they don't want anyone to leave here."

Voices began clamoring again, but Michael shushed them. "Mylo, accident or not, you're still to blame for the loss of lives here today," he said. "You say you're from Suffragette City, just like the men who want to kill us. How do we know we can trust you?"

"Because I escaped from there!" Mylo protested. "I couldn't stand living there a moment longer. And my life here is so much better, Michael. You've given me the best home I could possibly imagine."

Michael shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mylo, but I don't think I can let you stay here after today."

"What?!" Mylo blurted, and Xyloto gasped it too- "What?!"

Michael crossed the room and stood in front of Mylo. "I'm so sorry, Mylo. We just don't let traitors stay in our gang. You'll have to leave here now."

"No!" Xyloto shouted, but he was ignored. Mylo gazed levelly at her gang leader. "Michael. It was an accident. And we did defeat those bastard drivers."

"Not without a high price," Michael said. "Not without the cost of lives."

"You think those two boys are reason enough to kick me out of the gang? If anyone's to blame, it's the drivers!" Mylo's voice raised in pitch. "They might have killed me today too, but we won! We won. Yes, it's terribly sad that two of us had to die in the process, but life goes on!"

"Their blood is on your hands," Michael murmured. "Get out."

Mylo shook her head. "If you let me go, you don't know what you're missing. Besides, I'm not leaving my home. I love everyone here. I love Xyloto." Xyloto felt a shock run through him. He had never heard Mylo say she loved him before. "I think there should be a vote."

"A vote?" Michael started laughing harshly, sarcastically. "A vote on who thinks you're a traitor or not?"

"No," Mylo said. "A vote on whether or not I should leave the gang. These people are my family. I know they'll support me."

"Family," Michael snorted. "All right, everyone. Raise your hand if you think Mylo should leave the gang."

There was a moment of tenseness, and then the majority of the boys raised their hands. Mylo felt her heart sink.

"Good," Michael muttered. "Everyone who thinks Mylo should stay, raise your hand."

Xyloto's hand shot straight in the air, as did Ziggy's and a handful of other boys.

"Floyd, you're not voting," Xyloto said, looking at him.

"It doesn't matter if he does or not," Michael said. "There is no tie to break. Mylo, you are no longer a member of this gang, and you certainly were never a member of this family."

"No!" Xyloto screamed, leaping to his feet. Mylo stared at him, and then turned to glare at Michael.

"You don't know what you're doing." She looked to Xyloto. "Xyloto, you have to come with me."

"Don't give in, Xyloto," Michael said. "She's trying to tempt you. Don't give in."

"How can you listen to him?!" Mylo screamed. "Ignore Michael! He's the one trying to manipulate you!"

"Mylo-" Xyloto murmured without hearing himself, stepping forward.

"This is an order, Xyloto! Don't take another step!"

Xyloto froze. Mylo started towards him, but Michael grabbed her arm and tugged her back.

"Get out of this house," he hissed. "I'll give you time to collect your things. If you resist, I'll throw you out of here with nothing but the clothes on your back."

He released her, and Mylo fled up the stairs. Xyloto rushed forward, but Michael locked an arm around him. "I'm warning you, Xyloto, don't even try to go up the stairs."

"No!" Xyloto shrieked. "No! No! _No!" _He struggled as hard as he could against Michael's iron grip, to no avail. In a few moments Mylo was downstairs. She faced the gang with a defiant expression, tear glistening in her eyes.

"Xyloto loves me," she said. "If I were you, I'd keep a close eye on him. Nothing can defeat love, not even your foolish, fucking rules." With that Mylo turned to the door and was gone.

Michael released Xyloto, who instantly turned on him and beat mercilessly against his chest. "Why did you do this?!" he sobbed. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered. "I really am."

"NO!" Xyloto ran to the door and threw it open. "MYLO! Mylo, come back… come back…" There was no sign of his lover on the empty street. Xyloto leaned against the doorframe, sobbing. Michael turned back to the gang. "Go back to your rooms. I need a group to help me bury our dead and get these drivers' bodies out of here. As for Xyloto…" He cast a long look at the door. "I'll deal with you later."

At that moment, Xyloto wouldn't have cared if the world ended right then and there. The greatest person that he had ever known, Mylo, was gone.

As soon as Floyd got back to his room, he tore off his shirt, feeling as if the scent of blood still lingered on it. He washed himself with sink water, trying to cleanse his body. He may not have participated in the fight, but just being in the room where it had occurred seemed to have polluted his body in an irreparable way.

_So this is what war feels like, _Floyd thought, looking at himself in the mirror.

Ziggy was included in the group that got the bodies of the fallen drivers out of the house. Immediately upon returning to his room, he walked straight past Floyd and into the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet bowl and retching. Floyd walked in and sat down beside Ziggy, rubbing his back soothingly. Once Ziggy was done, he stood up and flushed the toilet before running water in the sink to rinse his mouth with. As he turned on the tap, he spoke to Floyd without looking at him. "We have to get out of here."

That night, Xyloto sat alone in his room, thinking about life. Life seemed to be awfully like a river, the way it kept flowing upstream and the way no man could control it, just carried along by the current. Xyloto was only eighteen years old. He still had such a long way to go in life. He had thought that his future would include love and maybe a family- after all, that's the way everyone wanted their future to go. He had the gang, but Xyloto still wanted a family of his own. With the discovery of Mylo, it had seemed that he might get his wish. Xyloto loved her dearly and knew in his heart that she loved him too, even if she didn't say it. But now that Michael had been so convinced that Mylo was a traitor to the gang, it seemed as if Xyloto's chances of going further with her had gone up in flames.

_So it's over now, _Xyloto thought. _This time I know it's gone. _He stared out the window into the night, wondering where Mylo was and if she was safe. Dear God, please let her be safe…

_Now I know it's gone up in flames._

He pushed his face into his hands and sighed, gingerly feeling the sore black eye that Michael had given him as a threat for trying to leave the gang. "There's more where that came from if you desert us!"

_Can we pour some water on?_

Tears were in Xyloto's eyes, but he blinked them back. He remembered the time after the massacre, so many months ago. Xyloto had fallen to his knees, reduced to tears at the sight of his seven dead brothers. As he sobbed uncontrollably, Michael had lain a hand on his shoulder. "Cry all you want," he had said, and Xyloto did. He'd cried for days before finally realizing that shedding tears wouldn't save anyone. The only surefire way to save the lives of his family members was to fight back.

Just like then, Xyloto wouldn't sit around alone in his room bemoaning the loss of Mylo. He had to go out into the world and chase her down and bring her back, or take her away from the gang. He had to leave this house forever. It was a big step, but this place was no longer the home that Xyloto had known. Michael was now concerned solely with making up for lost lives. The drivers might find reinforcements, and the entire gang would be slaughtered. It could turn into a full-on war if Xyloto didn't leave the place in time.

He stood up and, as quietly as possible, began packing up his things to leave. He was nervous and scared and at the same time excited. What if he got caught trying to leave? What if he _did _leave- what would he do then? What if he made it to the borders only to be killed by the drivers?

As Xyloto packed, he realized he couldn't do this alone. On his own, Xyloto was dead meat, but with others he might have a chance. He considered who to take, before finally deciding on the two oldest members of the gang, Floyd and Ziggy Stardust. They had arrived as newcomers to the gang on the same day Mylo had, but Xyloto had been too fascinated with Mylo to really hear their story. He remembered hearing that they had been trying to get to a certain place- where was it? Suffragette City? That was where Mylo used to live!

Quickly, the pieces fell into place. Mylo probably wouldn't know where to go by herself on the road. She would return to her old home, if only for a little while. She was going to Suffragette City. If Xyloto promised Floyd and Ziggy a guide to get to the city, he could take them away with him.

_Mylo, I'm coming! _Xyloto thought as he threw his backpack onto his back. He crept across the hallway, listening all the while for voices or footsteps, and then entered into Floyd and Ziggy's room.

Ziggy, lying awake, was instantly aware that someone had come into their room. He nudged Floyd awake, and then got out of bed, whispering, "Who's there?"

"It's Xyloto," Xyloto responded. "I… I'm leaving the gang, and I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me."

"You're leaving?" Ziggy repeated. Xyloto nodded, and Floyd sat up in bed. "Xyloto? What are you doing here?"

Xyloto repeated what he had said to Ziggy. "I'm going to find Mylo again. I think she's gone to her hometown, Suffragette City. I need you to come with me, because I can't do this alone."

"Well, we were trying to get to Suffragette City when we ended up here," Ziggy said.

"Yes, but isn't it a little dangerous to be sneaking out in the middle of the night?" Floyd said. "What if someone woke up and found us?"

"If you move quietly, they won't," Xyloto said. "It's your decision. I can get you a guide to the city if we find Mylo, and if we don't at least I'll be safer with you guys around."

"And if the drivers attack us?" Floyd said.

"There aren't that many drivers left anymore, I don't think," Ziggy said. "Not if the body count was right. Besides, if we came across them we could rescue Rael."

"You don't need Rael anymore," Xyloto said. "He was only serving as a guide, right? Once we find Mylo, we'll have a much better guide."

"But what if they kill Rael?" Ziggy said. "I can't stand not knowing if he's dead or alive."

"Xyloto is right, though," Floyd said. "We don't need Rael. If we come across the drivers we can surely rescue him, but there's no point in risking our lives just so we can recover a guide who doesn't know where he's going. Not when Mylo actually knows the area we're in."

Ziggy nodded. "I understand." He did, but he still wished to know Rael's fate. Would they ever see that odd, intriguing boy again?

"So do you want to come or not?" Xyloto asked. Floyd looked at Ziggy, and they made the decision wordlessly. "Yes, we're coming," Floyd said.

"Good," Xyloto said. "Pack up." Ziggy and Floyd began to silently collect their things. They were as nervous as Xyloto was.

Once everything was packed, Xyloto opened the door slowly and led them out into the hall. The hairs on the back of Floyd's neck stood up as he listened carefully for the sounds of people waking. His heart pounded as he passed a door, and then another door. Xyloto led Floyd and Ziggy down the stairs and then out the front door, as quietly as possible. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Xyloto whispered, "Now we run." They took off as fast as they could down the streets, heading for the not-so-safety of the border.

Mylo had been walking for what felt like hours, tears streaming endlessly down her face. Her feet hurt, and she was physically and emotionally exhausted and just wanted to give it all up and lie down on the ground and never feel anything again. The fight and her resulting banishment from Michael's gang had worn on Mylo, and now she could barely go on.

Every now and then a choked word would escape Mylo's lips- "Xyloto. Xyloto, I love you…" But it was too late now. Xyloto had chosen to stay with the gang over running off with her. He couldn't possibly love her the way she had come to realize she loved him.

_Could have been a princess, _Mylo thought, wiping her face with her hand. It was no use; the tears would keep coming no matter what she did. _You could have been king… Could have had a castle, and worn a ring, but no, you let me go._

She stopped walking at last and for the first time examined her surroundings. Mylo had been walking through undergrowth and tall trees for a long time now. She had reached the border of the gang's territory.

_Well, at least they won't come find me now, _Mylo thought, lying down on the warm grass. It tickled her cheek, and she scratched it absently, closing her eyes. _Take me away. _Let sleep come and take this pain away.

Xyloto, Floyd, and Ziggy soon reached the border of town. Xyloto stopped his companions and whispered fervently to them. "I'm going to go check and see if there are any drivers out. You wait here."

"No," said Floyd. "I'm coming with you. It's too dangerous."

"But Floyd-" Ziggy said. "You might get hurt too!"

Floyd sighed and looked at Xyloto, who shrugged and said, "All right, I guess we're all going together?" Floyd and Ziggy nodded simultaneously, and Xyloto whispered, "Follow me." He crept forward into the trees.

After a careful examination with all five senses, there appeared to be no sign of life out in the woods. Relief stole over Xyloto, and he whispered, "We're all clear. Let's keep moving." Floyd and Ziggy followed their teenage leader further into the woods, stopping at last in a small clearing, where Xyloto said to make camp for the night.

"Should we build a fire?" Ziggy asked, and Xyloto shook his head. "That might alert the drivers to our position. Let's just go to sleep and pretend that we were never in the gang."

"It wasn't a bad place to live," Floyd said. "At least Michael gave us shelter when we needed it."

"But now he's turning our home into a war camp," Xyloto said. "And besides, I couldn't stand to live there without Mylo."

"You really love her, don't you?" Ziggy said, and Floyd remembered when he had been asked that same question, referring to Audrey.

Xyloto snorted. "Of course I really love her. I… I wouldn't have gone out of my way to escape if I didn't."

Ziggy nodded. "Would you do anything for her? Would you go to great lengths to save her life?"

"Definitely," Xyloto said. "I mean- I'm only a teenager, I'm sure you don't think I can have feelings like this, but you'd be surprised. I've never felt this emotion for anyone else. I think Mylo is… well, it sounds so stupid, but I think we're meant to be together." He blushed with embarrassment after saying that- it really sounded stupid.

However, Ziggy nodded. "I understand. I- I've never really loved anyone, but I understand."

"What, are there no women on Mars?" Xyloto teased.

"There's plenty of women, and plenty of men too," Ziggy said. "But I've never felt the bond that you described, the bond that makes one go to great lengths for another person. On Mars, we would call a couple like that 'bonded souls.' It's different here on Earth- you take wives, and divorce them when you fall out of love. It's far too easy to make the wrong decision here. But on Mars, we wait for years before taking a partner, because whoever we end up with is the person we stay with for the rest of our lives. Our souls are bound together, so that we can never be away from each other. It always helps to have an element of friendship in the relationship."

"That might be why Martians live so long," Floyd theorized. "You're waiting for love!"

Ziggy smiled- "Perhaps"- and Xyloto grinned. "That's pretty romantic."

"Yeah, it is," Ziggy said. "I much prefer our Martian ideas of love to your human ones. You need to find Mylo, Xyloto. A bonded soul can't keep away from its partner forever."

"I'll go all over the world just to see her again," Xyloto said. "I mean, if I have to."

He lay down in the dirt, wondering where Mylo was now and what she was doing. He would hear her call wherever he went. If there was one thing Xyloto could say to Mylo at the moment, it would be six words long- _Don't let it break your heart._

_I'm sorry for staying behind, Mylo, _Xyloto thought. _I love you and I'll find you. If you're tired of waiting forever, but you've never left the start… well, come on love, don't let it break your heart._


	17. Gonna Go Where They Don't Know My Name

Chapter Sixteen: _Gonna Go Where They Don't Know My Name_

Morning awoke the runaways bright and early. "Do you have any food on you?" was the first thing Xyloto wanted to know. Floyd shook his head, but Ziggy reached into his backpack and triumphantly pulled out a few packets of trail mix. "I snuck into the kitchen when we were leaving the house. I'm surprised you didn't notice I was gone!" He giggled. "See, Floyd, you're not the only one who can be prepared."

"It's not much, Zig," Floyd said, ripping open a packet. Ziggy rolled his eyes. "Well, we didn't have time to get more."

"I know," Floyd said. "Just messing with you. Thank you for the food." They ate their scant breakfast and then got on their feet, ready to keep moving.

Xyloto led Floyd and Ziggy through the forest, following a deep instinct inside of him. He didn't know where Mylo was; no, but he _felt _her. He felt her presence deep inside of him, though she wasn't with him. It was as if he really was hearing a siren's call.

"Mylo," Xyloto mouthed, his eyes half-closed. "Mylo. Mylo." Her name was like honey on his tongue. She was out there, not so far from him and not going anywhere. Xyloto shushed Floyd and Ziggy, who were talking quietly behind him. He stood in one place and breathed in the air, his eyes closed, and then took off running through the trees in the direction of his loved one.

"Mylo! Mylo!"

And from far off, he heard the sweet, sweet voice.

"Xyloto! XYLOTO!"

A pair of arms folded around his body, and a person crashed into his embrace. "MYLO!" Xyloto blurted, crushing her close to his body.

"XYLOTO!" she cried, kissing his entire face. They were so close together that they could hear their hearts beating as one. Mylo buried her face in Xyloto's shoulder, weeping. "Xyloto…"

"Mylo," was all Xyloto could say. He lifted her mouth up to hers and kissed her back, hard. "I… I'm never going to let you get away from me again!"

"I love you!" Mylo sobbed back, pulling away from Xyloto. "God, Xyloto, I love you!"

"I love you too," Xyloto whispered, hugging Mylo even tighter. "Ssh. It's all right."

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat behind Xyloto. Mylo looked up and gave a start. "Hello…?"

Xyloto broke away from Mylo, still holding onto her hand, and came face to face with Floyd and Ziggy. "Oh, hey guys," he said, squeezing Mylo's hand. "Mylo, I escaped the gang and brought Floyd and Ziggy with me."

"Hello, Mylo," Ziggy said, smiling, and Floyd nodded at her. Mylo smiled back through her tears of joy.

Xyloto turned all of his attention back to Mylo, caressing her cheek. "Don't cry," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm all right," Mylo said, breathing happily. She couldn't believe that Xyloto had come and found her. "I… I thought you were gone forever."

"That's bullshit," Xyloto snorted. "Mylo, I love you and from now on I'm never going to leave your side."

"Must be hard when you have to go to the toilet," Ziggy murmured, and laughed when Xyloto whipped his head around to glare at him. "Sorry! I'll not disturb your young love anymore!"

"Thank God for that," Xyloto muttered, looking back at Mylo. "Mylo, how did you get hurt like that?" He pointed to the scratches on Mylo's legs.

"I got cut up by the undergrowth when I was walking through the woods," Mylo dismissed his concern. "The boots saved me for the most part. It's all right."

"Good…" Xyloto looked her up and down. "I'm so glad you're… here. With me." He pulled her in for another kiss.

"Are you quite done?" Floyd asked when the kiss was over. He couldn't bear watching them interact- it reminded him too much of Audrey. "We have to keep moving to get out of here. Mylo, Xyloto said you could lead us to Suffragette City?"

Mylo stared at them. "You still want to go there?"

"If it's the closest city to our current location, yes," Ziggy said.

Mylo sighed. "I'm telling you, it's a bad place."

"It can't be worse than London," Ziggy said.

Mylo glanced at Xyloto, knowing that Ziggy hadn't seen anything yet. She then looked up at her adult companions.

"Please, Mylo," Floyd said. "We can't live out here in the woods forever. We got lost… we have homes back in England."

"Well, I'll show you to the city but there's no chance I'm staying in it," Mylo said, gesturing aimlessly with her hand.

"_We're _staying in it," Xyloto corrected her.

"All right," Ziggy said. "We're on our way to Suffragette City! But first, let's get out of here."

They trudged through the woods for most of the morning, and finally made it back out to the freeway before noon. Floyd never thought he'd be so happy to see an empty street. Xyloto kept glancing around nervously for stray cars. This was the first time in years that he'd been out of the ghost town.

"Don't worry, Xyloto," Mylo muttered, picking up on his vibes. "If any of those bastards come along, we'll run and hide. They won't even notice us."

Xyloto shrugged, trying not to look worried. Mylo saw straight through it and laughed as she kissed his ear.

"So we just keep following this road?" Floyd asked after a bit. "How far away is Suffragette City?"

"It's a day's drive," Mylo said. "I'm not sure how much longer it would take on foot. Maybe two days. Basically all you have to do is follow this freeway until you come across a city. It's not hard to miss."

"Thank you," Floyd said, relieved. "I think we can make it from here."

Mylo rolled her eyes. "You're not serious. Remember, there's still danger out. Xyloto and I are sticking with you."

"Yeah," Xyloto piped up. "Four is more company than two."

"Where are you going to go once we reach the city?" Ziggy asked the two lovers.

"I'm going back home," Mylo said. "Just for a quick stop, though. I want to go live somewhere else."

"We should travel across the country," Xyloto said. "See the world, only us on our own." He swallowed and then added under his breath, "It's a hell of a good way to live out the last five years of our lives."

Ziggy's ears hadn't missed the last statement, and he asked, "How old are you, Xyloto? Just out of curiosity."

"Eighteen," Xyloto said, and Mylo said, "I'm seventeen."

"Oh." Ziggy's heart fell as he watched the couple. They were obviously meant to be together, but they would only live to be twenty-two and twenty-three. Was five years enough time for children? And could they even make it to the deadline when they were living alone in the wilderness? What if Suffragette City was actually the only thriving city in America? They'd been out of touch with the world for so long that it could be true for all anyone knew.

Floyd, happening the glance over at Ziggy, saw worry reflected in his eyes, and knew exactly what he was thinking of. _We've got five years… _The lyrics from Ziggy's all-too-true apocalyptic song sounded in his head. _That's all we got._

"Would you like to hear a song?" Ziggy suddenly blurted, surprising everyone. Xyloto shrugged, and Floyd said, "Why are you asking?"

"Well… I never got to sing 'Memory of a Free Festival' to the gang," Ziggy said a bit shyly. "Would you all like to hear it instead?"

"Sure," Xyloto said, though he'd never really gotten the attraction of Ziggy Stardust, and Mylo smiled and said yes. Floyd stopped the group from walking and gave Ziggy the thumb's-up. "I love this one."

"You've only heard it once!" Laughing, Ziggy stepped back from the small group and surveyed their faces, rubbing his hands together. "Well. Maybe I should announce this one, should I? 'Memory of a Free Festival.'" He began to sing, and Floyd was instantly swept away.

_"We scanned the skies with rainbow eyes and saw machines of every shape and size. We talked with tall Venusians passing through. And Peter tried to climb aboard but the Captain shook his head, and away they soared, climbing through the ivory vibrant cloud."_

_Images filled Floyd's head, images from a memory that was not his. He was walking on smooth cobble-stoned streets beneath a clear gray sky. Around him were people, people, and more people- people who were inhumanly thin, people with unnaturally pale skin and pointed ears who lacked eyebrows. He was walking on the grass, a stubby layer of green on the ground, and looking up as the sky opened up and colorful creatures walked the sky, tall creatures with soft gray skin and flowing rainbow hair. The people on the ground saluted to the people in the skies, who spoke to them in a strange language that Floyd could not understand. A hand was slipped into his, and he looked up- it was a woman he had never seen before, smiling in pure happiness at him._

_ "__The Sun Machine is coming down, and we're gonna have a party. Ah-ah-ah!"_

_With a shock, Floyd was sent back to the present, standing next to Xyloto and Mylo on a lonely black street. He tried not to look too disturbed as Ziggy, eyes closed, repeated one line over and over. "__The Sun Machine is coming down, and we're gonna have a party!" __Xyloto and Mylo looked transfixed, and Floyd wondered if they were seeing the memory that he had seen- Ziggy's memory._

_ "__And we're… gonna have a… party!" __Ziggy finished, opening his eyes to watch as Floyd, Xyloto, and Mylo burst into applause. "Thank you!" He smiled, and Floyd felt faint for a moment. That smile… He tried to push that thought away._

_ "__It was beautiful," Mylo said, and Xyloto added, "Yeah, it was great." _

_ "__And what do you think, Floyd?" Ziggy asked, winking at him._

_ "__I've heard the song before, Zig- you already know what I think!" Floyd laughed weakly._

_ "__No," Ziggy said sincerely. "I don't." He peered into Floyd's eyes, and Floyd was assaulted by mismatched blue. "Tell me what you think, Floyd. Please."_

_Is he making a move on me? __Floyd gave a little shrug. "It was nice."_

_ "__Nice?!" Ziggy backed away from Floyd. "It's the best song I've ever written!"_

_ "__Don't go saying stuff like that, it makes you sound pretentious," Floyd said. "All right, it was more than nice. It was beautiful."_

_ "__Thanks." Ziggy chuckled and moved down the road. "Come on! Let's keep going to Suffragette City!" He bounded along, and Mylo and Xyloto stared confused at Floyd. "Is he always like this?" Mylo asked._

_ "__Most of the time," Floyd said. "You'll get used to it." He followed after Ziggy, musing on that memory that he had shared if only for a brief moment. __It was beautiful…_

_"__I'll give you three hints- girl, jealousy, fight."_

_ "__How did he do __that __to you?"_

_ "__Oops, I meant four. The last one is 'ring.'"_

_Suffragette City was nowhere in sight, but Mylo was getting more anxious as the group reached the suburbs. As Xyloto and Ziggy talked eagerly and Floyd walked alone with his thoughts, Mylo wondered how she would be received. One thing was for sure- she was expecting a less than welcoming attitude. Her parents would be freaked out that she'd left. What would they do when they found out Mylo wanted to take off forever with a new boyfriend?_

_ "__Can you see out of that one?"_

_ "__Yeah, not very well but I can. My depth perception's thrown off a bit, but other than that I'm fine. We had very good doctors in my hometown."_

_Mylo sighed. She was expecting a fight, a beating, and a refusal to let her back in the house. That didn't bother her. She'd already lived on her own before, albeit with the gang. She could do it again with just Xyloto._

_ "__Hey, Xyloto," Mylo said, hitting him on the arm. "We're about to come up to my old home, and I think it would be a good idea if you didn't come in with me. I mean, my parents have literally no idea where I am, and seeing you might set them off…" __Not like my homecoming wouldn't set them off, __she thought silently._

_Xyloto blinked. "You're going back?"_

_ "__I have to," Mylo said. "We have to get supplies. Hopefully they'll be out by the time we get there…"_

_ "__But what if they are home?" Xyloto said. "I'm not letting you face them alone."_

_ "__Xyloto, I can handle it," Mylo said, laying her hand on his chest. "They're not bad people, not really. I'll get in, get some stuff, and get out before they even notice I was there."_

_ "__Okay…" Xyloto grabbed Mylo's hand. "But if you get hurt…"_

_ "__If I get hurt, you and Ziggy and Floyd come in after me," Mylo said. "I won't be alone."_

_They continued on their way until Mylo took a turn down another road. "Follow me! This leads to the suburbs. My home's out there, somewhere…" The three other members of her group followed along._

_Finally Mylo had reached her home again. She wasn't sure what to think as she crept along the streets. Someone was screaming in an alley- that was nothing new. Trash cans clattered, and doors slammed shut. A car glided by on the road, and Mylo froze, afraid that its driver might recognize her. But the car went on without stopping._

_ "__This place is rather eerie," Ziggy said. "It's so quiet."_

_ "__Quiet?" Mylo laughed sarcastically. "This place is anything but." She led them down the sidewalk, her shoulders hunched over and face to the ground to protect her identity. If anyone saw these newcomers and wondered who they were, they weren't asking._

_A large building rose up, and Mylo stopped, breathing hard. She stared at the house with a mixture of foreboding and longing. "Here it is, guys," she said softly. "That's my house." She pointed discreetly with her finger. "What do you want me to get?"_

_ "__More food, some water, and soap," Ziggy said._

_ "__A razor and a hairbrush," Floyd added._

_ "__Clothes that I can fit into, and money," Xyloto said, pointing out the most important item needed._

_ "__Yes," Ziggy murmured. "We need money, and lots of it."_

_Xyloto glared at him. "Not for you!"_

_ "__Okay, okay," Mylo butted in. "Ill get you everything you asked for Just wait here." She darted across the street and into the back door of the house._

_The door was unlocked, but that didn't mean anything- her parents didn't bother to lock every door when they went out. Mylo felt her heart pounding as she moved past the washing machine, which was running, and towards the cellar door. She turned the handle ever so slowly and leapt softly out._

_No one was in the main room- no one but her father. Mylo felt adrenaline pumping into her system, and then she realized he was asleep. The TV was on in front of him, blaring a commercial. Mylo moved into the shadows and made her way ever so slowly towards the stairs. She was thankful for the carpet that covered them as she trod upwards towards her bedroom._

_The first thing Mylo collected was soap, stealing a bar from the bathroom. She then snagged a hairbrush and a razor, just as Floyd had wanted, and some shaving cream to go with the razor. Mylo exited the bathroom and went into her bedroom. The familiarity comforted her, and she sat down on the large, plush bed for a moment before standing up and grabbing her old bank. She had saved up all the money she got from working at a fast food place in the bank, and it was her pride and joy. Next Mylo took some of her clothes- it felt good to see them again, as she'd only worn one outfit for her entire time in the gang- and then headed across the hall to her father's room, where she raided his closet for clothing that would fit Xyloto. It was a miracle that her mother was out today. Mylo thanked God that she wasn't around to see her daughter._

_Satisfied with most of the supplies, Mylo tiptoed back downstairs to where her father was still sleeping, and held her breath as she went to open the refrigerator. The sound didn't disturb him, and he continued to snore in peace. Mylo shoved as much food and water as she could find into her backpack, and then went to leave the house. But just as she stepped onto the wood, her father made a grunting noise, shook himself, and woke up. Mylo ducked behind the island quickly and peered out._

_Mylo's father reached down at his feet and picked up a cigarette and a lighter. He lit it and stuck it in his mouth, puffing away as he changed channels on the TV. Mylo felt her breath scraping in her throat. She tried to calm herself down- __at least Mom's not here… __but it was no use. Mylo was terrified. If she'd only let Xyloto come with her. He would be able to comfort her._

_She had no idea how long it was before she decided to make a move. Her father hadn't moved or made another noise for a long while, and Mylo assumed he had gone back to sleep. At least, she hoped he had. She stood up silently and began to cross the floor, never taking her eyes off of the motionless figure on the couch. Just as Mylo was convinced she was going to get away with it, however, her father's eyes snapped open and saw her._

_ "__Mylo!" He sat up on the couch, removing the cigarette from his mouth. "Oh my God! I haven't seen you for weeks!"_

_She was trapped. "Um… hi, Dad…"_

_Mylo's dad struggled to stand up, but he seemed too lazy. "Where have you been, young lady? We had to call the police and everything… we thought you were dead!" _

_ "__I was away," Mylo said quietly. "I was staying with friends."_

_Now her father was starting to get worked up. "Friends? What friends do you have? And why didn't you call us?"_

_ "__I have better friends than family," Mylo stated coolly. "I didn't call you because I didn't have a phone. Besides, I wouldn't want you to come find me anyway."_

_ "__Why not?" Mylo's father said. "What in the world would drive you out of your own home?"_

_ "__I…" Mylo snapped and suddenly screamed at her father. "This is not my home! I never belonged here. I wanted to be an artist, but you never let me! I wasn't going anywhere in life working at a fast food place! I had to escape! This place is a hellhole!"_

_Her father stood up at last, and Mylo felt a tremble of fear run through her. He was much taller than she was, and though he may be more reserved in giving out beatings than her mother, he was still someone to be afraid of._

_ "__Mylo," her father said calmly, with anger leaking out from the edges of his voice. "Stay here and we'll work it out. Just stay here."_

_ "__No!" Mylo shouted. "I'm not staying another damn minute in this house!"_

_Her father swooped towards her and grabbed her arm. "I said stay here, godammit!" he yelled, shaking her. His breath smelled uncomfortably of nicotine. Mylo twisted in his hands. "Get off me, you creep!" She managed to break away from him and run towards the couch. Unfortunately, her father turned tail immediately and grabbed the back of her shirt. Mylo fell to the floor with a painful bump. She landed on the packet of cigarettes, and quickly snatched them up, along with the lighter._

_ "__Hey! What are you doing with my cigarettes?"_

_ "__I'm not letting you have them!" Mylo cried, jerking forward so that her surprised father let go of her. She ran to the cellar door._

_ "__Come back here!" he yelled, charging after her, but Mylo was already gone. She ran into the cellar and through the back door, back into the bright outside world._

_Ziggy, Floyd, and Xyloto were still standing on the other side of the street. Mylo pelted towards them and threw her supplies into their hands. "Dad's home. Make a run for it!" They sped down the sidewalk at top speed, and Mylo left behind the place she'd lived for the majority of her life, forever._

_Once the group was back on the street and away from danger, Floyd took the hairbrush, razor, and shaving cream and went to groom himself. Ziggy smirked as Floyd straightened his hair. "Who knew you were so vain?" Floyd gave him a dirty look as he rubbed shaving cream on his chin and wet the razor blade with water that Mylo had brought. Observing the way Floyd shaved, Ziggy said, "I'm so glad that Martians don't grow facial hair." _

_ "__You also don't grow eyebrows, I've noticed," Floyd said, patting his now-smooth face down. "Why is that?"_

_ "__I never thought we needed eyebrows until I saw you humans," Ziggy shrugged, and Floyd was assaulted with a painful memory, a memory of when he hadn't had eyebrows, or any hair on his body to speak of. __Pollution emotions get it off get it off get it off_

_Floyd took a deep breath and shook the memory away. He watched as Ziggy examined the lighter and cigarette pack that Mylo had brought with interest. "What's this for, Floyd?"_

_Floyd had to smile at Ziggy's cluelessness. "The metal thing is a lighter. It starts fires." He took the lighter from Ziggy's hand and flipped it open, showing him the small flame that appeared. "The things in the pack are cigarettes. You light them with the lighter." Floyd picked up a cigarette and lit it with expert skill. He then offered it to Ziggy, who stared quizzically at it. "But what's it for?"_

_ "__You don't have cigarettes on Mars?" Ziggy shook his head. "That's odd… The cigarette is for smoking. You suck on the end that's not lit up, obviously, and blow the smoke out."_

_ "__What's the point of that?" Ziggy asked._

_In answer, Floyd handed the cigarette over to him. "There's no point, really. Why don't you try it?"_

_Ziggy stared dubiously at the cigarette before placing it in his mouth and inhaling. He came away coughing. "Ugh, that's disgusting! Who would want to smoke cigarettes?"_

_ "__Most people don't," Floyd said. "But they try it once and get addicted. They can't stop." He took the cigarette back from Ziggy and threw it on the ground, stamping it out._

_ "__Hmm," Ziggy said, looking at the stamped-out cigarette. "Did you ever smoke, Floyd?"_

_ "__Yeah, I did," Floyd said. "I gave it up when Audrey had Eva, though. It wasn't good for her."_

_Ziggy picked up the lighter and the cigarette pack again and weighed them in his hands thoughtfully. Just then Mylo and Xyloto appeared. "We're ready to go!" Xyloto said. "Come on!" _

_ "__All right!" Floyd and Ziggy stood up, gathered their supplies, and went to join the two teenagers._

_When the night fell, the group set about making a campfire. Floyd pointed out that a fire wasn't really necessary, as it was barely autumn yet and the nights weren't that chilly, but he had to admit that he preferred to see people's faces when he talked with them. Mylo passed around some of the food she had stolen, and the group chowed down. Afterwards, Mylo jokingly suggested, "We should sing a campfire song." _

_ "__That's what I'm here for!" Ziggy cried. "What would you like to hear? Hint- don't say 'Changes'."_

_ "__Aw, but that's my favorite," Xyloto teased._

_Ziggy laughed. "If you'd heard my album, I can guarantee you it wouldn't be your favorite."_

_ "__What are you in the mood to sing?" Mylo asked Ziggy. _

_ "__Well…" He glanced towards the sky thoughtfully. "I think I'd like to do 'Five Years.' What say you?"_

_ "__Fine," Floyd said, and Xyloto and Mylo agreed. Ziggy sang, closing his eyes._

_"__A soldier with a broken arm fixed his stare to the wheel of a Cadillac._

_ "__A cop knelt and kissed the foot of a priest, and a queer threw up at the sight of that._

_ "__I think I saw you in an ice cream parlor, drinking milkshakes cold and long._

_ "__Smiling and waving and looking so fine- don't think you knew you were in this song._

_ "__And it was cold, and it rained, so I felt like an actor_

_ "__And I thought of Ma, and I wanted to get back there._

_ "__Your face, your race, the way that you talk-_

_ "__I kiss you, you're beautiful, I want you to walk!"_

_On the line "I kiss you," Floyd imagined what Ziggy's lips would feel like skimming across his jaw. He forced himself into the real world, and sang along as Ziggy lifted his voice into the "We've got five years" refrain. Ziggy opened his eyes, looking surprised to hear Floyd. Mylo and Xyloto joined in. Soon their voices filled the air, and there was no rhyme or reason to the singing. "__We've got five years, stuck on my eyes! We've got five years, what a surprise! We've got five years- my brain hurts a lot! Five years- THAT'S ALL WE'VE GOT!"_

_It was as if singing the chorus over and over would make the five year deadline go away. Floyd felt as if he was singing for his life. He didn't care who recognized him now. His voice grew louder and louder and more and more desperate, along with Mylo and Xyloto. No one wanted to stop singing, for fear that something- anything- bad could happen._

_After a while of singing "FIVE YEARS" over and over, Mylo and Xyloto's voices started sounded choked. Floyd looked at them and saw tears running down their faces. Harsh reality had set in- __we're going to die. We won't even get to have families of our own or get married or grow old together… We're all going to die in five years. __Floyd glanced over at Ziggy and saw that his eyes were closed again. His breath was shaking. Mylo and Xyloto could barely continue to wail out the words of the song, and finally Ziggy stopped them, opened his eyes, leaned forward, and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. He stared into their eyes while Floyd looked on._

_ "__I promise," Ziggy said softly but firmly, "I promise that I will do all I can do to save this planet and save your lives. You're going to live, believe me. You're going to live."_

_Right before his eyes, Floyd saw Mylo and Xyloto transform. They were no longer weeping, depressed about the five-year-deadline. Instead, their faces were hopeful, looking up towards Ziggy. They stared at him as if he was their savior._

_Just then Ziggy motioned for Floyd to come forward, and when he approached Ziggy pulled him and Mylo and Xyloto into a hug. They rocked together, back and forth, and Floyd enjoyed the closeness of Ziggy's body before he pulled away and the embrace ended._

_ "__Thank you," Mylo murmured, and Xyloto repeated it- "Thank you."_

_Floyd only nodded and looked away._

_Xyloto and Mylo fell asleep with their arms around each other. On the other side of the campfire, Floyd sat in silence, watching the flame, while Ziggy played with the cigarettes. He lit one just as he had seen Floyd do, and began to smoke it. Floyd looked over at him._

_ "__I thought you said those things were disgusting."_

_ "__Not really," Ziggy said. "You just have to get used to them."_

_Floyd sighed, hoping he hadn't accidentally introduced an addiction to Ziggy. He looked back at the fire, and then said, "Tell me about your song, 'Five Years,' Ziggy, if you will please."_

_ "__What do you want to know?" Ziggy asked. "It's pretty obvious what it means."_

_ "__I don't understand all of the lyrics, though," Floyd said. "Who was it you thought you saw in the ice cream parlor? Where did you want to go back to? Why did you feel like an actor- and what about all those people you mentioned? Who were they?"_

_ "__So many questions," Ziggy sighed. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and studied it. "I didn't see anyone in the ice cream parlor. No one I recognized, anyway. I thought I saw… someone, but she wasn't there." His tone was so definitive that Floyd didn't ask who it was._

_ "__The line 'I wanted to get back there' refers to Mars. Well-" He laughed suddenly. "I wouldn't call it Mars. The word 'Martian' has such a negative connotation here on Earth- it didn't even exist on our planet. We called ourselves-" He broke off and looked down at the fading cigarette in his hand. Tapping the ash off onto the ground, Ziggy finished with, "Well, you don't need to know. _

_ "__Anyway, that was all I could think about that day. Audrey and I were leaving the city, and everyone was mourning, so it seemed right and fitting that it was raining. The sky was even crying for us. All I could think was, I want to go back. I want to turn back time and get off this planet, because at that moment I greatly doubted I'd be able to save everyone. The task seemed so daunting… but it was working by the time I left England, so it probably would have worked if New York hadn't been destroyed._

_ "__I felt like an actor because I felt that I didn't belong with everyone else. They were mourning for their planet, and I barely had any attachment to the planet at all. I felt like I was just acting along with them, pretending to feel sorrow for Earth. Actually, I think quite a lot of humans really are just pretending to love the Earth, because it's about to die. How curious that you people should take even your own existence for granted._

_ "__Those people I met on the streets that day- I don't know who any of them were. They were just all going mad. It was horrifying to see._

_ "__Did I answer all your questions?"_

_In a flash, Floyd came to the present again. He was thoroughly shocked. Instead of listening to Ziggy's words, he had felt them inside him, and seen everything that Ziggy had described. He'd been in the crowd of people, hearing screams. He'd lifted his face to the sky and felt water splash on it as the clouds darkened. Most of all, Floyd had felt the utter helplessness, lost for what to do next._

_ "__Yes…" he mumbled. "You answered my questions, Ziggy." Floyd lay down and stretched his muscles, sore from walking for the entire day. He wasn't sure how to bring up this unusual phenomenon to Ziggy._

_Finally Floyd said, "Ziggy- do you have any… psychic abilities that I don't know of?"_

_Ziggy burst out laughing. "You've been reading too much science fiction, Floyd!"_

_ "__I don't read science fiction," Floyd said. "It's just- when you sang 'Memory of a Free Festival' today… I started imagining things. Things that I couldn't have made up."_

_ "__How do you mean?" Ziggy asked, suddenly serious._

_Floyd described the memory that he had received. When he was done, Ziggy stared shocked at him._

_ "__I… I don't understand how you could have gotten that memory," he said dazedly. "That… what you just described was exactly what I remember happening that day. Right down to the Venusians walking the sky. How did you know that, Floyd?"_

_ "__I don't know," Floyd said. "I thought it was an alien thing. I was hoping you could explain it…"_

_ "__I have no idea," Ziggy said. "Well… there's one explanation, but it's entirely impossible…"_

_ "__What?"_

_ "__Well…" Ziggy seemed apprehensive. "Don't call me crazy, but… it's been said that when two people are bonded soulmates, they have the ability to share thoughts, or remember things that the other partner has remembered. It's as if their minds are one." He cracked a smile at Floyd. "But that can't relate to us, now can it?"_

_Floyd felt his breath stop._

_It does… it does it does it does…_

_I… love… Ziggy._

_He breathed out, slowly. Ziggy was staring at him curiously._

_ "__Yeah," Floyd said, and managed a chuckle. "I have no idea how I received that memory of yours, Zig."_

_ "__Hmmm," Ziggy said thoughtfully, throwing the cigarette into the fire. Floyd felt shaken, and grasped for something to say that would hide his emotions from Ziggy._

_ "__You know… you said that Venusians are beautiful. But what I saw didn't look like anything I'd call attractive."_

_Ziggy laughed. "Oh, they're not beautiful in the dictionary sense of the word- not beauiful at all, really, in fact they're downright ugly- but when you look in their eyes… you get an overwhelming sense of peace. The eyes are where it's at, Floyd. They hold a mysterious power that before I could only dream about."_

_Floyd remembered Ziggy's memory, and watched as the Venusians in the sky turned their glowing eyes onto him. He felt a chill run through him- the eyes were green and lacked pupils. Then a feeling of warmth spread out through his body, seeping into his veins._

_Floyd nodded, not looking at Ziggy. "I guess I see what you mean."_

_That night, while Ziggy lay slumbering a few feet away from Floyd, Floyd stared up at the skies and thought about Audrey. __I miss you I miss you I miss you_

_How could he even think of Ziggy in a time like this? He loved Audrey first and foremost above anyone else. Besides, Floyd was a man, and it just wouldn't do to love another man._

_But how would you know? __His mind roared. __You've never tried it._

_Floyd sighed and rolled over, trying to ignore his longing to scoot over and touch Ziggy's shoulder. He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. Tomorrow would hopefully be the last leg of their journey to Suffragette City._


	18. Don't Wanna Be An American Idiot

_Chapter Seventeen: __Don't Wanna Be An American Idiot_

_The birds sang at the break of day, waking Mylo and Xyloto up. Mylo started when she felt Xyloto's arms around her, and then relaxed as he landed a kiss on her lips. They made out for a few moments, and then Xyloto lay back to listen to the birds chirping in the treetops above._

_ "__I can hear what they're saying. They're saying 'Start again,'" Xyloto whispered, squeezing Mylo's hand. "It's so hard to just walk away… walk away from my life, from everything I've ever known as home…"_

_ "__I know. It's hard for me too," Mylo said. "But those places were only semblances of home, Xyloto. Wherever we go now, that will be our new home."_

_ "__I still feel bad for leaving Michael," Xyloto sighed, petting Mylo's hair._

_ "__Don't be. You had the choice to leave if you wanted to. And thank goodness you did. I wouldn't have been able to survive without you here." Mylo hugged Xyloto tightly, and they lost each other for a moment._

_Ziggy and Floyd woke up, and the foursome ate breakfast. After the foodstuff was cleaned up and leftovers were put away, Xyloto reached into his backpack and pulled out the clothes he wanted to change into for the day. Mylo laughed when she saw his shirt of choice- it was white with a black X on the front, for Xyloto._

_ "__Where did you get that?" Mylo asked._

_ "__Oh, the gang gave it to me for my birthday a year back," Xyloto said. "They made it themselves."_

_ "__When's your birthday?" Mylo asked._

_ "__October 24__th__," Xyloto answered, and Mylo blinked in surprise. "That's my birthday too!"_

_ "__Really?" Xyloto gasped. "What year were you born?"_

_ "__1969," Mylo said. _

_ "__I was born in '68…" Xyloto stated thoughtfully. "I'm a legal adult."_

_Mylo laughed. "You don't act like one!"_

_Meanwhile, Ziggy was examining the clothes that Mylo had brought from her home. He shook his head sadly at the pieces of fabric. _

_ "__I'm dying to change, but I'm afraid I'd be swimming in these," he said, demonstrating by holding up a shirt to his chest. The shirt was far too wide, and it sagged around the edges._

_ "__Good God, Ziggy," Floyd snorted. "Why are you so skinny? I could pick my teeth with you!"_

_ "__I'm not __that __much smaller than you," Ziggy said indignantly. "It's another Martian thing."_

_Privately, Floyd wondered if that was why he loved Ziggy so much- Ziggy was roughly the size of a young woman, and he had an androgynous face to match._

_Then he remembered- he must not love Ziggy. Loving Ziggy was wrong. It was being infidel to his wife, and it was shameful to love one of the same sex (though Floyd had never really had a problem with it before). Though an ocean separated them, Audrey was Floyd's first priority._

_But as Xyloto tossed one of his shirts over to Ziggy and the man stripped to the waist to put it on, Floyd found his eyes wandering along the planes of his flat, near-hairless chest before he could tug them back to ground level._

_Dammit, Ziggy. Just damn it._

_Unbeknownst to the four explorers on their journey to Suffragette City, another inhabitant of the suburbs where Mylo used to live had left home a few days earlier. He'd woken up on the couch to the familiar sound of the TV blaring in his ears. Someone was yelling about a used car sale downtown. He scratched his head, feeling his black hair sticking out in all directions, and fumbled for the remote. The TV was hurting his ears, but he was used to that. He felt around for a few moments on the couch before finally finding the remote control hidden away in a crevice between two cushions. He picked it up with mild triumph, only to find that he no longer cared about changing the channel. The commercial stayed on._

_Nobody was inside the house save for him. His mother was outside, that he knew, and his stepfather was… working, he presumed. Who even cared where his stepfather was. He stood up, wincing slightly as his muscles protested against being exerted, and slowly made his way over to the fridge to grab another drink. He'd had at least three root beers today- it was surprising that he hadn't had to pee yet. He opened the fridge and blindly took out another bottle of the stuff, the last one there was. While walking back to the couch, he spied a half-empty bag of Lays potato chips on the floor, and picked it up too. He plopped back down on the couch and opened the bottle of root beer. The TV continued to blare nonsense as he mindlessly chowed down on the chips, not out of hunger, but out of boredom in its most extreme form._

_There was never anything to do around this place. Most days were spent sleeping, watching TV, and eating or drinking. No one ever thought to feed him themselves, so he always raided the fridge when he felt it was time for a meal. The only thing that could remotely be called excitement in his life was the times when he kicked himself out of the house, unable to stand another minute with his mother and stepfather, and headed to his favorite place downtown to hang out with his "friends" and smoke cigarettes. Even that activity was boring in some way, as things never changed around town. He knew he could always find the same old people and enlist them in the same old activities, where they would talk about the same old shit- dreams of leaving this town behind, once and for all. It never happened, though. They just weren't crazy enough. Not even he was crazy enough to risk leaving._

_Today, however, he felt that he'd had enough. He couldn't stand another minute alone in this goddamn house. With a groan, he wrenched himself up from the sofa and wobbled slowly across the floor towards the front door, which he opened. He stepped across the threshold and stood swaying on the porch, blinking up at the bright sun._

_His mother had somehow managed to cultivate a garden in the front yard, even though most of the town he lived in was filled with gray concrete, unsuitable for growing plants. She was there now, kneeling in the rocky dirt, tending to her weeds. He had never seen the point in gardening. Most likely it was something his mother had taken up just so that she could avoid him. Not like her job didn't take her away from him enough._

_ "__Johnny," his mother said without looking up. "Can you go get me something to drink from inside? It's sweltering out here." She took off her woven hat and wiped her forehead, turning her body in his direction._

_ "__We're all out of root beer," he said back, and held up the bottle to prove it._

_ "__Okay then, can you get me some water?"_

_She'd already been using water on the plants. Why didn't she get some for herself then? He didn't want to be her slave and have to get her stuff she could have got before. "I'm not getting you any fucking water!"_

_ "__You know I hate it when you use that kind of language, Johnny," his mother said, trying to sound patient. He knew, of course, that she was exploding on the inside._

_ "__Well, why don't you get it yourself?"_

_She stood up. "I'm only asking a favor from you! Now would you be so kind as to do what I ask?"_

_ "__Don't tell me what to do." He rolled his eyes at her and went back inside._

_Once inside, he knew it was only a matter of minutes before she came barging in after him and gave him a lecture about respect. He wasn't looking forward to that. He slouched back down on the couch and stared listlessly at the TV. A soap opera was playing, and a woman on the faded screen was crying, "You never listen to me!" She reminded him of his mother._

_The door slammed open, and his mother- speak of the Devil- stomped inside, making her way over to the sink. He heard water running, and then her footsteps came over to him as she leaned behind the couch and stared over his shoulder. _

_ "__All I ask is for you to get me one goddamn drink…"_

_ "__Don't tell me what to do," he repeated, pointedly not looking at her._

_She stiffened with fury. "Johnny, I am sick of your disrespectful attitude! If you want to do some good for this household, get a job and learn to treat others right! Otherwise there's no point in staying here."_

_ "__Fine." Why was she always telling him to get a job? She didn't even like the one she had. "If you want me to leave, I'll leave."_

_ "__Just wait for your father to come home," she said, forgetting momentarily the effect that phrase had on him. He jumped up suddenly and spun around to face her. _

_ "__He's not my father and you know it! He's not related to me in any fucking way!"_

_ "__I told you not to-" his mother began, but he was swalking away from her. _

_ "__If you want me to leave, I'll leave," he repeated, and swung out the front door with a BANG._

_He knew exactly where he was going before he even thought about it, and once he realized the direction his feet were taking him, he was filled with an impenetrable dullness. But where else could he go? Not back home, that was for sure. He felt that this time he had had it. He wasn't ready to go back home, and he never would be._

_Two of his buddies were waiting for him at the 7-11 parking lot. He crossed the street and said hi, and they gave nods back. "Hey, Jesus." That was his nickname around them- the Jesus of Suburbia. His friends, Tunny and Will, were his disciples. It wasn't a very fitting nickname- he hadn't died for anyone's sins, and certainly no one had died for his either. But whatever, it was a better name than "Johnny," the name his mother had given him._

_ "__What've you got?" Tunny asked Jesus, eyeing the root beer bottle in his hands._

_ "__Root beer." He held it up. "Not much of it though."_

_Will snorted. "What are you doing drinking that shit when you can have the real thing?"_

_ "__Hey, it was all my stupid mother had." He held up his hands, and then spun around, facing the cars rushing by on the road. "HEY!" One car blew past, its bumper stickers flashing- an American flag or two stuck to the metal. He took aim and launched the root beer bottle towards the backside of the car. It struck with precision, shattering into a thousand pieces._

_ "__Idiot rednecks!" he yelled, and turned back to face his friends. They were grinning. "Nice shot, Jesus," Will said._

_ "__Hey, you got any money?" Tunny asked. "I'm in the mood for some beer."_

_Jesus scoured his pockets before coming up empty, with only one small penny. He grinned sheepishly at Tummy, who rolled his eyes and then lit up when Will held up a wad of cash. "Great! Let's go get some booze." They rushed off towards the entrance to the 7-11._

_While Tunny and Will were busy putting their fake IDs to good use, Jesus hit the restroom. The three sodas he'd drunk had finally caught up to his bladder. After using the facilities, Jesus stared at the writing on the inside of the stall door, shaking his head at some of the idiotic things they said. "SAVE YOURSELF… THE END IS NIGH…" The whole town had been in a panic ever since it had been revealed on the news that the Earth was going to die in five years. It didn't really matter much to Jesus. As long as he was still in this crapsack town, who cared when the world ended? He had half a mind to whip out a Sharpie and call all the apocalypse fanaticists attention-seeking dimwits, but he didn't quite have the will. Or the Sharpie._

_Exiting the restroom, Jesus found Tunny and Will standing by the front door, holding a six-pack of beer. He started grinning. That stupid cashier fell for their fake IDs every time. It was truly a bit hard to believe. Of course, Jesus couldn't buy alcohol anymore because his ID had been confiscated by his mother, but he hoped that next year he wouldn't have that problem. He joined his buddies by the door, and the threesome walked back out into the sunlight and opened the pack, each taking a can._

_ "__I shoulda bought more," Will said after taking a long sip. "We're going out to the edge of town tonight, me and the guys. We're driving to that part of the city that's closed off. There's a whole house full of people living out there, and we're going to rough them up a bit."_

_ "__So?" Tunny asked, studying his beer can._

_Will grinned. "So it's gonna be a party, and we'll need more drink. Either of you interested in coming?"_

_Tunny shrugged- "Maybe. I don't know about that, man. I've never been out there before."_

_ "__Oh, don't be a wuss," Will said. "It's all cool. Nothing bad's gonna happen. What say you, Jesus of Surburbia, our fearless leader?" They looked at him._

_Jesus thought. He, like Tunny, was a bit worried about the idea of going out to the closed-off part of town. He'd heard all sorts of things about the vicious gangs that lived there. But at the same time, he knew he wouldn't be spending tonight alone in his bed. Not when he'd left the house with no intention of coming back. Besides, if he did show up again he knew he'd have to stand the sight of his mother and stepfather together. And he knew he __couldn't__ stand that. Just the sight of them, standing close together, maybe even holding hands, was enough to make him tremble with internal, suppressed rage. Dinners in his household usually ended up with Jesus stalking away to his room, while his stepfather- no, not even that, the word 'father' shouldn't even be in his name- yelled at him behind his back and his mother called "Johnny, come back here…"_

_He shook off the memories immediately and snapped back to reality. Tunny and Will were waiting on his response._

_Forunately, he didn't have to answer. Just then, a car pulled into the parking lot, sporting an American flag bumper sticker identical to the car that he'd bounced a root beer bottle off of on the road. The driver exited the vehicle and went inside of the 7-11, and Jesus's fists tightened with anger, closing around the empty beer can in his hands. Without thinking, he hurled the can towards the car's back window, where it plinked off the glass and fell in a crumpled mess to the ground._

_ "__What'd you do that for?" Will asked._

_ "__I hate those idiot rednecks!" Jesus blurted. "I hate those fucking American… American idiots!" As soon as the words were out, everything seemed to fall into place with a __click. __They were idiots, all of them. Everyone in America was an idiot. American idiots. Except for Jesus of Suburbia and everyone he associated with. Jesus was Jesus, and he was the savior of the common people. It all made perfect sense now._

_He turned quickly to his friends. "We have to get out of here, man. I'm so sick of living in this hick town. We have to go to the city."_

_ "__Suffragette City?" Tunny questioned. Suffragette City was the city that Jesus's Suburbia lay on the outskirts of. Jesus snorted. "What other fucking city do you think I mean?"_

_ "__I don't know about that, man," Will said. "Don't you think it'd be kind of dangerous?"_

_ "__Of course it's dangerous," Jesus spat. "I like danger. I say we leave tonight. Can't stand another minute around here. Who's with me?"_

_There was an awkward silence before Tunny offered, "I'll come with you." But Will shook his head. "What about the ambush?"_

_ "__Not gonna happen," Jesus said. _

_Will coughed. "I guess you're leaving me behind?"_

_ "__Sucks for you. See you later," Jesus said. He drew Tunny close to him. "C'mon. We gotta get going now."_

_ "__Shouldn't we get a car?" Tunny asked._

_ "__Yeah…" Jesus swept his eyes over the parking lot. They landed on the red car that had just pulled into the lot, the one with the American flag sticker on it. The two front windows were rolled down- __what fucking idiots!, __Jesus thought. He went over to the car and ripped the bumper sticker off. "Will, you stand guard. Tunny, get in through the window." Will ran into the 7-11, and Jesus and Tunny entered the vehicle through the open windows. They set to work on hot-wiring it before the driver came back. Finally Jesus got the car to start, and he pulled out of the 7-11 parking lot and sped onto the street, Tunny cheering him on._

_The motto is just a lie, __he thought, glancing at the 7-11 sign. __It says "home is where the heart is." __Yeah, that was a fucking lie. Home was not where Jesus's heart was. From that point on, he didn't even have a home._

_The first stop along the way was at a gas station, where Tunny filled the tank up in preparation for their excursion to Sufrragette City. Jesus sat in the driver's seat and smiled inwardly, his fingers tapping the steering wheel with nervous energy. Once the gas tank was nearly filled up, Jesus grabbed Tunny and asked, "Wanna get more beer? I bet they have some here."_

_ "__Sure," Tunny said. "I got my ID." He ran into the gas station's shop, and Jesus watched the numbers on the gas pump slowly grow higher. He wanted this baby completely full in preparation for the long drive to the city._

_Tunny came out with two packs of beer, which Jesus greedily consumed with his eyes. He could hardly wait to get back in the car. Finally the tank was full, and Jesus and Tunny climbed back into the car and sped off. Tunny turned the radio up as high as it would go, and Jesus yelped in joy. "Pink Floyd!" He and Tunny began singing along as the car threaded its way down the highway._

_We don't need no education_

_We don't need no thought control…_

_The sun was beginning to set, and as the day grew darker, Tunny and Jesus grew drunker. They finished off the last of the beer and flung the cans out the window. Cars honked as Jesus's driving became more and more erratic, but he just flipped them off and yelled "Fucking American idiots!" The car swerved this way and that, but to Jesus it just felt like the coolest thing ever. He was still on his way to the city._

_ "__This is the dawning of the rest of our lives!" Tunny whooped. "How d'you feel, Jesus?"_

_ "__Feels like a fucking holiday, man!" He laughed and spun in and out of the lane, frightening all the sober drivers away._

_Eventually, though, Jesus's driving habits came to catch up with him. As he revved up the engine a notch further, a car suddenly came out of nowhere in front of him. What? He hadn't seen that- He tried to turn out of the way, but it was no use, and the two cars collided, skidding off the road. Jesus panicked as the car flew right off the road and crashed into a thicket of bushes. For a moment he lost awareness of the world around him, observing nothing but the hiss of overheated metal and the pounding in his ears._

_When Jesus came to, he found he was alone. He unbuckled his seatbelt and hastily got out of the car, taking the last can of beer with him. He staggered around the damaged vehicle. "Tunny?" Jesus called his friend's name again and again, but only silence answered him. Tunny had fled the scene, either not wanting to get arrested or not wanting to wait another minute. Jesus decided this was a good thing to do, and hurried out of there._

_Dazed and confused, clutching an empty beer can in one hand and stumbling about like a blind man, Jesus continued to walk down the lonely road. No cars were coming, which was strange. He looked down and saw the swaying ground beneath his feet was unmarked, unlike the highway. To his left and right were trees, most of them stumps. As he walked, Jesus checked himself for injuries. Blood was coming from somewhere on his head. Jesus gingerly patted his hair and discovered a small cut just above his forehead. It didn't seem very deep, and with luck would only leave a scar. The whole world looked blurry and was spinning around him, but that was probably a result of the drink he'd imbibed. Jesus shivered a bit, noticing for the first time that the sun had gone down. He was all alone, and he had never felt it more acutely._

_The last of the sun's rays had struck Jesus and created a shadow, the only one that walked beside him. He could feel each ragged breath pulled through his lungs, controlled by the beating of his shallow, stone heart. His legs moved along mechanically down the road, towards the place where the city slept. The street was entirely empty save for Jesus's lone figure._

_I wish… __Jesus rubbed his arms to keep warm, and to comfort himself. __I wish that one of them would find me. __His hazy, drunk mind wasn't thinking clearly. All Jesus had wanted at first was to get away, and now he just wanted to go back. But no! He couldn't go back. He would just have to see what lay at the end of the road. __'Til then, I walk alone._

_His feet came out from under him quite suddenly, tripping him up and sprawling him face-first into the mud at the side of the road. Jesus didn't care that much, sinking into blissful, cold sleep. The last thing he saw was a vision of the black night sky over his head, glittering with many bright stars. __Are we the waiting? __The question rang out into the night, and Jesus's eyes fell closed as he finally gave way to unconsciousness._

_He awoke covered in mud and with a bad feeling in his stomach and throat. Someone was speaking to him, but he had no idea what they were saying. However, his heart leapt at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He was no longer alone! Jesus started to sit up, but then sunk back down as saliva filled his mouth and his stomach rebelled against him, the alcohol he'd drunk the night before making its way back up through his body. He choked and vomited on the muddy ground, closing his eyes. When it was over, the voice behind him spoke again. "How much did you drink last night?"_

_Jesus turned around and stared in a daze at the man who stood before him. He was wearing nothing but a pair of ripped up, cutoff shorts and some muddy sneakers. His body was finely toned and muscular, his chest painted with an odd design. A crop of hair the color of a shiny penny sprung up on his head. Hanging out of his mouth was a cigarette- but it couldn't be a cigarette, because it smelled far too strongly._

_Aware that the man had asked him a question, Jesus responded with, "I… I don't know," and then, "Who are you?"_

_ "__Jimmy." The man took the burning stick out of his mouth. "St. Jimmy, if you will. That's my name- and don't wear it out." He extended a hand. Jesus, feeling self-conscious about his filthiness, tried to wipe his muddy hand on the grass and then shook Jimmy's hand. St. Jimmy did not seem amused. "No, you idiot, I'm trying to help you up!" He pulled, and Jesus shot onto his feet in a flying mass of mud. Jimmy jumped back to avoid the dirt getting on his skin, and Jesus tottered unsteadily on his feet._

_ "__What's your name?" Jimmy inquired, and Jesus tried to sound as confident as possible. "I'm the Jesus of Suburbia." The name that Jimmy had just called him, "idiot," suddenly caught up to him, and he added, "And I'm not an idiot, either."_

_St. Jimmy broke out into rough laughter. "Well, consider me your disciple, Oh Jesus of Fucking Suburbia."_

_ "__I already have two of them," Jesus murmured. He looked up and around himself, trying to get his bearings. The same empty, lonely road he'd been on the night before was in front of him, and to the side, at the very end of the road were the glistening lights of Suffragette City._

_ "__Seems like someone came along and went through your pockets," Jimmy said to Jesus. "Guess they didn't find anything worthwhile. Do you know how fucking pathetic you look right now?"_

_Jesus looked down at himself absently, slipping his fingers into his jeans, but the real attraction lay in his destination. Ignoring Jimmy's rhetorical query, he pointed to Suffragette City just ahead and blurted, "Can you take me there?"_

_ "__Sure, kid," Jimmy drawled, sounding as if he'd rather bury himself alive. "Just don't expect me to do favors like this all the time." He walked out onto the black road, and Jesus followed behind, sniffing the strangely-scented air. "What's that you're smoking?"_

_ "__Weed, what's it look like?" To Jesus's surprise, St. Jimmy handed the joint over to him. Cold contempt and certainty flared in his eyes as their fingers brushed. "You've never tried the stuff," he said matter-of-factly. "Well, now's a great time to start."_

_Jesus took a hesitant drag, and walked on as St. Jimmy guided him on his way into the city._


	19. Suffragette City

_Chapter Eighteen: __Suffragette City_

_After another full day of traveling, Ziggy, Floyd, Mylo, and Xyloto finally made their way into their longed-for destination, Suffragette City. Mylo and Xyloto stayed behind as Ziggy and Floyd reached the border. "This is the farthest we're going to go," Mylo said. "Good luck, guys." _

_As Ziggy and Floyd hugged their new teenage friends goodbye, Floyd asked, "Are you sure you're going to be okay out here on your own?"_

_ "__Sure," Xyloto said. "I doubt you'll ever hear from us again, but you don't have to worry. We're going to stay alive as long as possible."_

_ "__Well, take care," Floyd said, wishing he had more to say, but he knew that there was nothing he could say that would keep his friends alive. Try as Mylo and Xyloto like, Floyd knew they would never last on their own in the wild without going near civilization. On a whim, he gave Xyloto the address of his abode in Somerset- "If you ever want to contact me, write here"- praying deep down in his heart that he would someday see Xyloto and Mylo again._

_The lovers took off, and Ziggy and Floyd waved behind their backs. They waited for a long time until Mylo and Xyloto were out of sight. Then they turned around together and looked up at the huge sign on the road-WELCOME TO SUFFRAGETTE CITY._

_ "__Well," Ziggy said unceremoniously. "Here we are."_

_ "__Yes," Floyd said in return. "Here we are." They began walking side by side towards the entrance to the city._

_Suffragette City turned out to be very large, very bright, and very noisy. Cars honked in perpetual traffic jams. Radios blared from storefronts. And everywhere, the chatter of people permeated the air. Floyd, starved for civilization, couldn't help drinking in the sight of it all. Ziggy could only stand and stare with wide eyes at every new sight, until Floyd had to grab his hand and tug him along._

_ "__I've never seen a place like this," Ziggy murmured when at last the two had reached the end of the block and a quiet, if it could be called quiet, remained._

_ "__I have," Floyd said, thinking about his time in America years ago. "It looks like this place has stored up all the energy on the East Coast."_

_ "__Yeah," Ziggy said as the DON'T WALK sign shifted and Floyd tugged him across to the next block. "It's like London if the riots had never happened."_

_ "__So," Floyd murmured softly in Zigy's ear, trying not to let anyone nearby listen in on the conversation, "you had nothing on Mars to compare these cities to?"_

_Ziggy shrugged, lacking words for once, and muttered, "It's no place like home, let me tell you."_

_Ziggy and Floyd attracted a few odd stares from passerby on their way, which was no surprise. The two men were dirty and had generally odd features, such as Floyd's scraggly chin (he hadn't shaved very well) and intense expression, and, well, everything about Ziggy- from his bare feet to the platform boots in his hands to the dull sparkles on his clothing to the bright red hair, pale skin, and pointed ears. Floyd noticed the way they were staring at him, and told himself that it was just Ziggy they had their eyes on- no one recognized him as an ex-rocker. And probably no one recognized Ziggy either, as Ziggy had been about to break America before the plane crashed._

_Still, the stares were making Floyd feel self-conscious. "Do you ever get any sun?" Floyd hissed in Ziggy's ear as they walked together. Ziggy gave him a dirty look. "I've got white blood- you know that, Floyd. I'm not a hu-"_

_ "__Sssh," Foyd silenced him. "If anyone hears you say that, they'll think you're mad!"_

_Ziggy laughed wildly. "I already am, Floyd! Besides, I told everyone in England I was a Martian and they didn't care."_

_ "__Yes, but it's different here," Floyd told Ziggy. "You can't say stuff like that, not when anyone could be listening. Save it for the interviews."_

_Ziggy giggled again and they continued down the street. Then Floyd spoke up again. "So, if you've got white blood, and you hang upside down so that the blood rushes out of your ankles and into your head- which part of your body turns whiter?"_

_ "__You'd be surprised at how many times I've gotten asked that!" Ziggy exclaimed. "It's even, actually. I know because I've tried." They both laughed at the absurdity of the question._

_Presently Ziggy said, "Where exactly are we going, Floyd?"_

_Floyd sighed. "I don't know. I'm just glad to be back in civilization. C'mon, let's get something to eat."_

_Mylo sure had stolen a lot of money. Ziggy and Floyd went to a fast food place and ordered the cheapest food on the menu, but there was plenty of money to spare. Floyd counted it out while sitting on the sidewalk, Ziggy drinking Sprite at his side._

_ "__Brilliant!" Floyd said, turning the money over in his hands. "She nicked us one-hundred-and-forty dollars! That's eighty-six pounds, Ziggy."_

_ "__Goodness!" Ziggy said. "May I see it, Floyd?"_

_Floyd shook his head and quickly pocketed the money. "Who knows what kind of thieves are out here. It's not a smart idea to leave money like this out in the open, especially since it's all we've got."_

_ "__Ah." Ziggy sipped his soda. "God, this stuff is good. We had something like it on Mars, but nothing this sweet."_

_Floyd laughed at Ziggy's eagerness to taste soda, even though he knew fast food was crap. Still, after eating nothing more varied than soup and beans for weeks, it was a welcome change. "You've never been out to eat here on Earth?"_

_ "__Well, I never tried the soda, or any of the alcoholic drinks. Just water for me." Ziggy put his Sprite down and settled his elbows on his knees. "Floyd, where are we going after this?"_

_ "__I don't know," Floyd answered honestly. "I suppose we'll need to find a place to stay for the night."_

_ "__How about a hotel, like the ones I stayed in on tour?" Ziggy offered. Floyd felt a memory crawling to the surface of his brain- the last time he'd been in a hotel. __That will teach you God HOW COULD SHE DO THIS TO ME?!_

_"__No!" he burst out, and Ziggy stared with surprise. "No? Whyever not?"_

_ "__Because-" Floyd felt the memories clawing at him. __Just another one of my turns my turns my turns WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY?! pain, pain, don't leave me now, NO! NO, I DON'T WANT YOU get away get away monster get away DON'T THINK I NEED ANYTHING AT ALL is there anybody out there out there out there nobody home nobody home nobody HOME-_

_He fought his way back to the surface and slumped over, panting heavily. Ziggy was still staring at him with complete befuddlement. "Floyd? Are you all right?"_

_ "__Yes," Floyd breathed. "I'm fine. I just- I don't like hotels very much."_

_ "__We haven't really got a choice, though," Ziggy said, still staring at him oddly. "Where do you propose we stay?"_

_He snapped. "I don't know, Ziggy, all right?! I just… I don't know."_

_ "__Well, all right," Ziggy said, knitting his forehead together. "A hotel it is, then. If you hate it that much, you're out of luck."_

_Floyd gulped and tried to get a grip on himself. He couldn't let Ziggy know these things- or could he? Did he trust Ziggy enough with the secret now? There was no question, absolutely none at all. He had always trusted Ziggy to keep his secret. But could he afford to let his story color the way Ziggy viewed him?_

_No- yes. Yes, I can. __Floyd and Ziggy knew each other much better now that they did on the day they met. If Floyd told Ziggy his story about being a rock star, it would probably do nothing to hamper their relationship. Or would it? Floyd knew that if Ziggy revealed any deep secret about himself, he would… he would still love him, no matter what it was. But if Floyd revealed his secret to Ziggy…_

_ "__I'll stay in a hotel with you." Great, that was just inviting more intimate moments which Floyd would rather not have. But there really was no other choice. He wondered if he could handle being in a hotel again. Not after what happened last time._

_Oh well, at least I won't be given my own suite to destroy destroy destroy._

_Ziggy smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Floyd." And Floyd felt his heart melt at the sight of Ziggy's smile, though he tried not to let himself be moved._

_He couldn't tell Ziggy anything shameful about himself. Not one word._

_The two men did indeed check into a hotel for the night. Floyd, understanding the way hotels worked better than Ziggy did (although he told Floyd there were places similar to hotels on Mars, "it's not like we didn't have anything"), checked into the place by himself. He fidgeted as the receptionist handed him a room key. He would have liked to order two rooms, just to keep Ziggy out of his business, but he didn't have enough on the budget. He could barely afford one._

_Perhaps staying in the same room with Ziggy would be a good idea, though. Floyd returned to his companion and took him to the elevator. Maybe Ziggy would calm Floyd if he had any more hotel-related flashbacks. Not like he could really do or say anything to help without first knowing why exactly Floyd was suffering._

_Ziggy and Floyd rode the elevator up to the second floor and got out to locate their room. Floyd hoped Ziggy wouldn't notice the way he was sweating. He hadn't been this close to an environment that reminded him of his past in a long time. But then he remembered Ziggy's concerts. Floyd had thought he'd never be able to face a concert again, and it had been quite hard for him, but he'd pulled through in the end. Staying in this hotel couldn't be half that bad._

_But as Floyd unlocked the door and entered, and Ziggy gasped and flung himself onto the bed, he couldn't shake the memories of what he had done. Taking groupies to his bed, one after another… going crazy and locking himself up…_

_ "__This bed, Floyd," Ziggy sighed, throwing himself back against the pillows. "It's huge! I feel like I could sleep for a year."_

_ "__Wouldn't make much of a difference in your life," Floyd said. "You'd wake up looking as good as new. Just as you've probably looked for your entire life, or a million years of it at least."_

_Ziggy laughed. "I'm sure you're happy to see that there's another bed available. No more hard wooden floors for you."_

_ "__For the last time, I didn't care about that," Floyd said. He walked into the bathroom to stare at himself in the mirror for the first time in a long time. What he saw surprised him. He looked world-weary and tired, with deep circles under his eyes, almost as bad as Rael's. __I need rest rest rest_

_Floyd closed the door and turned on the shower. There was no getting around it- he stank, and he was sure Ziggy did too._

_After settling in, Floyd left Ziggy alone to sleep and rode the elevator down to the lobby. He wasn't sure what he would do if left alone with Ziggy. He might go psycho again, plagued by memories, or he might try to make a move on Ziggy. Neither option was very pleasing. Besides, there was an important question that Floyd needed to ask someone._

_ "__Excuse me, ma'am?" he said to the receptionist downstairs. "Can you tell me what today's date is?"_

_She gave him a funny look. "It's October 1__st__, 1986."_

_ "__Thank you," Floyd said, and turned away. So that meant that they had been living with the gang for at least two weeks. He knew that the journey to the gang had taken three days, tops, and the journey from the gang to Suffragette City had lasted yet another three days. That was one day short of three weeks that Floyd and Ziggy had been in America. _

_Audrey probably thinks I'm dead by now, __Floyd thought, and felt a pang surge through his heart. Audrey. He needed her now._

_Well, at least I can write her a letter. __Floyd sat down and borrowed a pen and a set of hotel stationary and began to write, letting all the words pour out of him._

_By the time Floyd had finished the letter, the lobby had grown busier. He looked around and found that it was nearly nighttime. Time to go back to Ziggy. Floyd went with memories that he had kept at bay during the writing of the letter haunting him every step of the way. He walked down the hall on the second floor and was suddenly hit by a remembrance so violent that he nearly fell to his knees. __Help me help me oh God stop the PAIN I'm dying my skin my face I'm dying I'm dying I'm dying_

_They'd grabbed his arms and dragged him out of his hotel room, not caring whether he was lucid or not. He had to perform. He had to perform. Flesh melted down his face and dripped in puddles around his feet, and on the inside he was screaming and screaming and screaming…_

_Floyd came back to reality in front of his hotel room. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall and arms around himself. Floyd sighed and closed his eyes, rocking himself to remind him that __It's okay, it's okay, it's okay… __He finally stood up and went back inside, only to find that Ziggy was no longer anywhere to be found._

_ "__Ziggy?" Floyd checked the bathroom and found nothing. "Ziggy, where are you?" He noticed a door in the back of the room and opened it. The door led out to a balcony, but Ziggy was not there. Instead, a ladder lay against the wall, reaching to the roof. Floyd swallowed and looked in every direction before ascending the ladder and taking a step onto the roof. Darkness had fallen, but Floyd could just make out a skinny figure sitting at the edge of the roof, the glow of a cigarette hanging out of his mouth._

_ "__There you are." Floyd walked up and sat down next to Ziggy, unsure if the smaller man would hear him over the roar of traffic. Ziggy made no move, but he said "Hi, Floyd," in a nonchalant voice. His blue eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the skyline of Suffragette City. _

_ "__What are you doing up here?" Floyd asked, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it. "And why are you smoking?"_

_ "__No reason," Ziggy said. "I just woke up and wanted to get some air."_

_ "__And then you started sucking on one of those cancer sticks," Floyd said dryly. "How ironic."_

_Ziggy shrugged. "They're okay." The two sat in silence for a while before Ziggy finally said, "This place is insane."_

_ "__I know," Floyd responded. "It's worse than London." He squinted down at the moving lights on the endless stream of cars below, and instantly looked away. The view was making him dizzy._

_ "__Worse than any city on Mars, too," Ziggy said. "I never dreamed human cities would be this huge."_

_ "__Well, get used to it," Floyd said. "You'll definitely stick out if you continue to gawk the way you did today."_

_Another silence passed, which Floyd was finding to be quite comfortable, until Ziggy tentatively broke it with, "Floyd…?"_

_ "__Yes?"_

_ "__If I might ask… what happened to you anyway?"_

_ "__Excuse me?"_

_ "__I mean, what happened to you, Floyd?" Ziggy repeated. "Don't think I haven't noticed your odd behavior. You have personality traits that I've never seen in anyone else. You don't like concerts or music. You freaked out today when I suggested we check into a hotel. You claim to write songs that mean nothing, and yet your lyrics cut straight to my bone. And you used to stare at Audrey as if she was your last grip on sanity, sometimes."_

_Floyd froze, but still managed to chuckle at the last accusation. "That's because she is." His heart, however, was racing. Of course Ziggy wouldn't be fooled. He had seen too many of Floyd's odd habits for that. There had to be some intervention coming up in the near future, and this was it._

_ "__I'm serious though," Ziggy continued. "What is it that made you this way? I just want to know because you've never mentioned your past at all to me. And don't say nothing happened, because I know better. Your lyrics don't mean nothing, Floyd."_

_Floyd almost had a heart attack until he realized that Ziggy meant the lyrics of 'The Final Cut.' He stayed silent, contemplating on what to say. The night sweltered, and memories began to stir in the back of his mind._

_ "__Please, Floyd?" Ziggy pressed. "Just once, and then we'll never speak of it again."_

_Just tell him just tell him just tell him_

_He surrendered and began to talk, swayed by the power Ziggy held over him._

_ "__Okay." Floyd sighed. "Okay, I'll tell you what made me this way. But Ziggy, I don't think you'll ever understand the full story. You may become famous, Ziggy-" __like me, __his mind added- "and you may become entrapped by all the excesses that fame brings, and you may climb to the top only to fall to the bottom. You could follow in my footsteps exactly, but you'll only ever come halfway to understanding what I've been through. Even if you were me, you'd find it hard to grasp. I know I still do. And… there are some things in my past that I just can't tell you about, no matter how close we are." Floyd took a breath. "Still with me?"_

_ "__Still with you," Ziggy said, captivated. He had turned his body in Floyd's direction. Seeing Ziggy's willingness gave Floyd the last strength to go on with the story._

_ "__Well. To explain everything, I have to go back to my childhood. I had a very shitty childhood, to say the least. My mother stalked my every move and the teachers at my school tortured me to the point of intolerance. I know that might not sound like much- I know there are others who have been through similar ordeals, and they came out fine- but it really hurt me, personally."_

_ "__Where was your father?" Ziggy interjected._

_Floyd stared softly into space. "I never knew him. He died in the Second World War, when I was very young, just a baby."_

_ "__Oh." Ziggy blinked. "I'm sorry, Floyd."_

_Floyd drew a deep breath. "Oh, it's nothing. I've gotten over it now." He stated these words as if trying to make himself believe them. "Moving on…" Now was the time to spill his biggest secret to Ziggy._

_ "__I became a rock star as soon as I got out of school." He suddenly laughed, a grim tone._

_ "__Oh!" Ziggy exclaimed. "You were one too? That explains everything!"_

_ "__Yes," Floyd said. "I was- once. That's why I write lyrics, and that's why your manager wanted me to tour with you."_

_ "__Wow," Ziggy breathed. "Why didn't you tell me? Were you very popular?"_

_ "__I was quite popular," Floyd said. "So popular that everyone in America once knew my name, and my face. I'm sure they've forgotten now. At least I haven't been recognized here so far. As for your first question…" He sighed. "Well, I guess I just didn't want your opinion of me to change once you found out. And it's personal, anyway. I don't like to think about my time as a… rock star." He shook his head as if shaking off memories._

_ "__Oh," Ziggy said. "I understand. Go on, Floyd."_

_ "__Thank you." Floyd looked out at the skyline. That revelation hadn't been too hard- he was surprised. He wondered if it would be any tougher to tell Audrey about his past. "As a rock star, I went by the name of Pink Floyd." Floyd shook his head again. "Ridiculous. And I was ridiculous. And I was crazy. And I just hated everything and everyone so much and thought the world was out to get me…"_

_He had forgotten Ziggy was there as the memories surfaced and rolled over him. "And then I married Audrey. She was just as beautiful as she is now, and quite intelligent, but that's not what I married her for. I married her because she was the kind of "dirty girl" that my disapproving mother would hate. And of course, a relationship founded on spite was not a relationship that would get along well. I was so confused, so broken that I pushed her away. I even hated having sex with her. I did not love her as a husband should, and- I ended up paying for that…"_

_Floyd fell silent at once, and Ziggy waited attentively. Finally he had to prompt him. "What happened?"_

_Floyd roused himself from the dream. "Oh… we cheated on each other." His voice was flat as he tried in vain to suppress the emotion, the anger he had felt at his wife as a man's voice answered the other end of the phone… a man who was __not supposed to be there, __it was __Floyd's __house…_

_ "__She wasn't too fond of the way I was treating her, to say the least," Floyd said firmly. "I don't blame her. No one would want to be around me back then. She went to find comfort elsewhere for a while. But I came to my senses soon enough…"_

_But not soon enough for the horrific concert and trial. Not soon enough for the dizzying dictator-like fantasies, where Floyd had ordered everyone dead and seen the crowd rip each other to pieces with their own bare hands… where his Hammers had broken windows and ravaged shops, and attacked and raped couples parked in cars outside. Then there was the trial, which he still wasn't sure had been real or not. Everyone in the past had come to yell at him, each of them wanting him to behave a different way, and then the judge sentencing him to TEAR DOWN THE WALL! TEAR DOWN THE WALL! TEAR DOWN THE WALL! TEAR DOWN THE-_

_Floyd realized he had paused in his storytelling, and Ziggy was still waiting. He shook his head. "I can't tell you what happened next." It was too painful for Floyd. He couldn't even put the experience into words. "But we did get back together, as you well know. We're very much in love now, and very happy… But, Ziggy, it took years for me to recover from the past and what it had wrought on me." Floyd's heart was racing. "The song 'The Final Cut' is about my trying to come to terms with everything that happened. I still haven't told Audrey everything- she knows everything I told you, but again, there are some things I just can't talk about. Not even to her. I… I attempted suicide once. It says so at the end of the song. She saved my life, and now I love Audrey too much to ever intentionally leave her." Floyd's breath was speeding up as he clutched at words in the air. "I- Audrey is- she's my life, my soul, the air I breathe. And it took my years, Ziggy- years!- before I figured it out."_

_Panting, Floyd slowly came back down to Earth, a little embarrassed by the passionate words that had spilled out of him. Ziggy was motionless, staring sympathetically at Floyd._

_ "__I think Audrey is your bonded soul," Ziggy said. "At least she would be if you were on Mars. Thank you for sharing your story with me, Floyd."_

_Floyd nodded without looking at Ziggy. They fell silent once again. Floyd couldn't bring himself to face Ziggy, or even say another word to him. He had never opened himself up so deeply to anyone but Audrey, and even Audrey didn't know the full story._

_And that's why I can't fall in love with you. __Talking about Audrey had reminded him just how much he loved her. It was just plain sacrilegious to fall in love with someone who wasn't Audrey- someone who wasn't even human, for that matter. Or a woman. Or anywhere close to his age._

_After a pause, Floyd said, "So what happened to __you?"_

_"__Hmmm?" Ziggy said around the cigarette in his mouth. _

_Floyd went on. "I've never heard you talk about your life on Mars, at least not in a personal manner. I just want to know what it was like, living there, and the destruction and all."_

_Ziggy shrugged. "Since you're __so __curious, I'll let you know it wasn't too different from living on Earth. You should know that after everything I've told you already. It was a lot simpler there, though. You had a lot less people wanting to kill each other and themselves, and more that just wanted to love freely."_

_ "__Oh, the alien __would __say that," Floyd snorted. "I doubt your culture was as accepting as you believe it was."_

_ "__No, it was exactly how I remember it," Ziggy said simply. "My memory doesn't lie, Floyd."_

_ "__Well, I suppose Earth isn't the best place to live on anyway," Floyd said. "I used to wish I could leave this world, I hated it here so much."_

_ "__But now that you've been given a deadline, you have to blindly love it like everyone else," Ziggy said stiffly. He pursed his lips and looked away from Floyd._

_ "__No, trust me," Floyd replied, and his mind echoed- __trust me trust me trust me… __"I'm not like them. I'm not like me anymore either. I have motivation to stay here on Earth now- Audrey won't let me go."_

_And neither will you__, he thought, hardly trusting himself to do so but finally glancing upon Ziggy's perfectly smooth features, his soft, thin lips, his chiseled jaw and wild, fiery hair. _

_Ziggy sighed. "I believe you. I never once said Earth was a bad place to live. Just that Mars was different, and I did prefer it there. And Mars wasn't exaclty peachy keen all the time either, especially after we found out it was going to die in five years. Never mind that. It was a lovely place to live, as long as it lasted anyway."_

_ "__Ziggy, if you don't mind my asking, what happened on your planet after the… the deadline was given?" Floyd said curiously._

_Ziggy hesitated. "Well- you see, no one told us anything until it was too late. Our scientists all over the planet discovered the fact five years from the deadline, but they withheld the information for reasons I can't possibly fathom. They knew all along that we were going to die, but chose not to tell us. It drives me mad just thinking about it…"_

_He breathed. "The demise was barely noticeable to anyone at first, but after the first year odd things started to happen, such as droughts and blood red rains. The rains were the scariest part, Floyd. Instead of clear water, it was the color of human blood. Of course we didn't make the connection at the time, not having seen a human, but it was still very unsettling. Also, the atmosphere gradually grew more obscured by yellow, and the sun's rays, what rays we received, were harder to penetrate it. The atmosphere was hard for us to breathe- of course, you wouldn't be able to breathe it at all, but it was a real struggle for us. We had to fight against our own resources. _

_ "__That was when people started going off their heads, and I can't really blame them. The scientists came out and confessed everything about the cover-up, and were thus shunned from society. That said society began rioting… there were fires in the streets every day, just like London. We just panicked, I guess. It was far worse on Mars than it was on Earth. We all wanted to escape the impending destruction, but we were so frightened by this idea that none of us could come up with anything- well, except me. I thought the only way we could survive was to head on a spacecraft for the nearest planet. It was the only solution I could come up with, and I thought it was better than slowly killing myself, anyway. But I couldn't convince anyone to come with me. I tried everything I could think of to persuade my friends and family to join me on a voyage through space, but despite all their desperation, they wouldn't come along. Called me a lunatic. I was shocked. 'Isn't it more insane to choose to die?' I remember asking them. But no, they were so sure of themselves, so convinced that space travel was too dangerous, even though we had the right technology. And so I became a pariah in society. My girlfriend, my… my lover at the time… she walked out on me, renounced everything having to do with me. My friends and family thought I was a nut, and ignored my ramblings about how we had to save ourselves. So I gave up hope and lived on my own for the next couple of years, trying over and over again to obtain a spacecraft for myself and failing every time._

_ "__Finally Judgement Day had arrived. I ended up stealing a spacecraft and riding it out, far away from the planet, where I watched my home die. The ground slowly turned red and the plants withered and died. It was pockmarked with craters like a diseased face. I never went back to my barren home planet- stayed around it a few days, and then took off for destinations unknown- but what was the point of going back? Everyone I loved- my close friends, my family, my… my lover… they were all gone, extinguished by their own stupidity. I was quite shaken at the time._

_ "__I traveled through the galaxy and went to many other places before noticing your atmosphere and ending up here. Earth has always been a favorite planet of mine, so I simply had to come and stop it from dying when I realized what was going on. And now, here I am, the last of my kind." Ziggy sighed, brushing his hair with his fingers, and stared out into the gloom. "We didn't have 'rock stars' on Mars, not exactly, but I've always been musically inclined. I'm sure my family would be proud of my career choice." He tossed his cigarette, which had burnt down to ash, off of the roof._

_Floyd had been listening ever so raptly to this tale, and now he whispered, "I'm sorry for your loss, Ziggy." He couldn't imagine how terrible it must be to know that he could have saved a planet, if not for the stubbornness of people he loved._

_Ziggy gave a little shrug. "It's been a long, long time… I'm over it now. I did write the song 'The Man Who Sold The World' about my experience, though. In the song, I am the man who sold the world. I sold my planet to destruction without trying hard enough to save it. The person who meets me on the stair is representative of the entire Martian population who was killed in the apocalypse. '__I thought you died alone, a long long time ago…' __They say that to me, because I'm the only one of them who survived. It can make for a lonely existence."_

_Spent from talking so much, Ziggy leaned back against air and stared fixedly ahead, not even blinking. Floyd sat with him for a while, contemplating the individual losses of him and Ziggy, when he happened to steal another glance over at the latter man. To his surprise, Ziggy's words that he was "over it" appeared not to be true, for tears glistened in his eyes. They overflowed, spilling over the brim, and yet Ziggy made not a sound, continuing to stare at something in the distance that Floyd could not see. Floyd had never seen anyone cry so silently. His heart burned as he realized the reason for it- Ziggy wasn't afraid of crying in front of Floyd, but he did not want to contrast his previous statement about being over his loss with his actions. It was for no other reason that Ziggy chose to suffer in silence._

_Quickly, Floyd averted his eyes before Ziggy noticed he'd been watching, and as inconspicuously as possible reached out a hand and gently laid it over Ziggy's. Ziggy did not recoil from the touch, and Floyd did not remove his hand or take advantage of the connection. There were a million things he was dying to say to Ziggy- __don't end up like me, don't lose sight of your goal, I'm so sorry for your loss, I love you, please stay safe… __Yet none of them would form on his lips._

_If I hold you closer, __Floyd thought without thinking, __will you struggle or will you hold me, too? What do you see when you look into my eyes? Do you care for me at all?_

_Only once before had Floyd ever been so close to a person physically and yet so emotiionally distant. With Ziggy, it was almost as if the wall was back in place._

_After a long while, Ziggy shifted and took his hand away from Floyd. He stood up, discretely wiping his eyes when he thought Floyd wasn't looking. "I think I'll go off to bed. I've got a big day tomorrow. I'm planning on going into the city and finding a recording studio I can work at."_

_ "__I'll come with you," Floyd said, getting up as well. They walked across the roof and climbed back down the ladder, reentering their room. "Good luck with your goal tomorrow, Ziggy," Floyd said as he slid into bed._

_ "__Thank you Floyd," Ziggy said, crawling beneath the sheets. "Good night. I'm glad we had that talk."_

_ "__Good night, Ziggy. I'm glad we did too. Sleep well."_

_Good night, my love. Come back to me safely._


	20. The Starman Returns

Chapter Nineteen: _The Starman Returns_

It didn't take long before the Jesus of Suburbia was all settled into his new home. St. Jimmy had led him into the city, and it was too hard not to follow his compelling presence. The joint that Jimmy had given him was also making Jesus more open to possibilities. He felt more laid-back and relaxed than he had for days. Jesus didn't quite remember how he got there, or really anything about the city, but he ended up in some burnt out basement underground, surrounded by people. All of them were either smoking or had stuck needles in their arms. Jesus looked to his savior, the St. Jimmy. "Where are we?"

"Home," Jimmy said. "You're out of the suburbs, kid." Jesus took slight offense to Jimmy calling him a kid, when he couldn't have been that much older than he was, but said nothing. "You're in the city." He led him through the mass of bodies. Somewhere, a radio was blaring, and the singer howled over a fierce, driving guitar. Jimmy pushed Jesus onto the floor. He landed on a dirty mattress and lay there, looking out at the people. Some of his wits were beginning to come back to him after the marijuana high. "Is it safe here?"

St. Jimmy snorted. "This is the safest damn place in the city." He slipped back through the crowd, and Jesus sat up, his head spinning with all the smoke in the air. No one in the room looked directly at him, or at anyone else. They spoke in grunts, avoiding each other's eyes. Jesus pressed his back against the wall and suddenly wondered- what had happened to Tunny? Had he made it to the city like Jesus had, or had he gone home? Or had the police gotten him?

A shudder of anger ripped through Jesus as he thought of the police. _Fucking authority figures… _

Jimmy returned to Jesus's mattress with two injector needles. He offered one to Jesus and plunged the other into his arm. "Ahh…" Jesus stared in a stupor at the needle in his hand, which Jimmy noticed. "Don't say you've never shot heroin before." Jesus shook his head. Jimmy sighed. "God! Here, I'll do it for you." And the needle entered his vein, spewing its poison into his system.

In school and everywhere else, Jesus had always been taught that drugs were bad. They would destroy you, everyone said. But neither marijuana nor heroin seemed to be that bad to Jesus. In fact, they were helping him feel better. All of the anger and pent-up frustration that Jesus had been experiencing over the last few weeks was washed away. He no longer felt like exploding- in fact, he felt better than he'd ever felt before.

"God," he gasped, lying back next to Jimmy on the mattress. "It's like Novocaine."

Jimmy nodded. "This stuff is better than air, kid." They fell silent as the drugs worked their magic, and Jesus enjoyed every second of it.

"AHHH!"

Floyd screamed himself awake early next morning. It took a long time for him to realize where he was, and that it had all just been a dream. But the dream had felt so vivid, as if he was reliving the moment in time. He'd been in that mental hospital again, and seen himself as a lunatic. Then he'd been wandering the barren, foreign landscape before coming back to his hotel room- _his hotel room- _and not being able to move any part of his body as the doctor worked over him. Then the shot- and then the scream.

Floyd rocked back and forth, hugging himself. His throat was constricted, and tears were burning his eyes. He forced them back, closing his eyes and swallowing, and reminded himself that the entire mental hospital scene had been nothing but a hallucination, even back then. Besides, he hadn't chosen to go insane. He had chosen the right path- the path towards Audrey and love and redemption. But even after reminding himself that, it took a long time for Floyd to calm down.

Finally, though, Floyd stopped shaking. He stretched out and looked over towards Ziggy's bed, only to find that the other man was gone. A note written on hotel stationary lay on his pillow. Floyd got up and took a look at it.

_Floyd,_

_I've gone out to search for success- namely, a recording studio. You can check out if the hotel if you have to- I've heard it's 65 dollars a night? I'm going to try to strike a deal and hopefully get money today if everything goes well. I'll be back at the hotel in a while, so you might want to wait outside for me._

_Love and kisses,_

_Ziggy_

Floyd frowned. Why did Ziggy always sign his letters in the same way? Trying not to imagine what love and kisses from Ziggy would actually be like, he folded up the letter and placed it by his bedside table before thanking God that Ziggy hadn't been around to hear him scream. He was such a light sleeper.

Floyd made his bed and made Ziggy's before getting dressed in the same dirty clothes that he had worn yesterday. _As soon as Ziggy receives some money_, he thought, _I'll have to go shopping._ Floyd packed up his things and went down to the hotel's lobby for breakfast. When he was done, he checked out of the hotel and paid for the one night he and Ziggy had stayed in it- thankfully, he still had 65 dollars in his budget. After leaving the building, Floyd made a plan. First he would go buy a stamp and an envelope and send Audrey's letter with the remains of the money, and then he would go try to find work somewhere, if Ziggy's plan ending up falling through.

As Floyd walked through the streets of Suffragette City looking in the windows of stores for HELP WANTED signs, he noticed a young man stumbling his way down the sidewalk in opposite direction of Floyd. Floyd hung close to the wall to get out of the man's way, but as they passed the young man tripped and fell next to Floyd's feet. Floyd instantly reached down and extended a hand to help him up. "Are you all right?"

The man looked up and took Floyd's hand, and Floyd hauled him to his feet. They stared at one another. The young man had black hair that flopped around his face, a bit like how Ziggy's had used to be, only shorter. He was on the heavier side and his eyes were a dazzling green color. He reminded Floyd of Xyloto aged a year or two older.

"Yeh, I'm fine," the man said. His voice was deep and a bit raspy. "Thank you."

"No problem." Floyd started to go, but the man caught hold of his shoulder and began to walk quickly to keep pace with him. "Hey, man! Don't go away! What's your name?"

"Floyd Pinkerton," Floyd said, and the young man laughed. "You're shitting me. That's not your name, that's the name of my favorite singer." Floyd's insides went cold, but he managed to laugh a bit. "Ha, you got me. Of course I'm not Pink Floyd." _So my music has reached the younger generation…_

"Are you sure, though?" the man said, jumping in front of Floyd and peering right into his face. "You look like him. And you sound like him too."

"Pink Floyd's been in retirement for years," Floyd said. "Besides, that's not really my name. My name is-" he thought quickly. "John Andrews." It was a pseudonym he had used before in the past, the name of his late father.

"Hey, man!" the man exclaimed. "My name is John too! Except everyone calls me the Jesus of Suburbia. That's where I'm from. J.O.S. You can call me-"

"Joss?" Floyd asked. "J.O.S.?"

"No, I was gonna say Jesus!" the man said. "Isn't Joss a girl's name?"

"It can be a boy's name too," Floyd said. "Well, I'd better-" He started to leave, but Joss ran after him.

"Hey, you can call me Joss if you want to. It's cool." He followed behind Floyd. "Where are you going?"

"I'm looking for work," Floyd said. "I just moved here."

"Do you have any food? I haven't eaten in… a while." To make his point, Joss rubbed his stomach.

"No, I haven't got any food or any money," Floyd said. "I'm new here, remember?"

Joss smiled. "Then that makes two of us!"

Try as he might, Floyd could not shake Joss from him. The man clung to him like a shadow, rambling on about everything and anything. Floyd eventually figured that if he couldn't beat him, join him. He tapped on Joss's shoulder.

"Do you know where I can find work around here?"

"Naw, man," Joss said, staring up at the sky. "I just got here a few days ago, remember? And I haven't eaten since then." He groaned suddenly. "Man, I'm so fucking _hungry!_"

"Okay, okay," Floyd said, trying to prevent the incoming complaints. "We'll get you some food soon. Where did you live before here?"

"The suburbs," Joss said. "The stupid, fucking _suburbs_!-"

"Hey, calm down," Floyd said, surprised that his innocent question should elicit such a violent response. Joss had balled his hands into fists and was glaring, his teeth gritting together. "I'm sorry if I offended you by asking…"

Joss exhaled as slowly relaxed. "Sorry. I just, I hate that place so much… But I'm free now! Whoohoo!" He laughed, and Floyd sighed.

"Have you got any money?" he asked suddenly. Maybe Joss could buy lunch for both of them. Joss sifted through his pockets, stalling. He did have money on him, but it was best he didn't tell this John person what he was to use it for. St. Jimmy had sent Jesus out that day on a mission- to go find his drug dealer and buy some more heroin. Jesus wanted it just as badly as Jimmy did. But he hadn't eaten since he didn't know when, and once out in the city, the prospect of buying food was far too tempting.

"I have some," he said finally, doubtfully. "Twenty dollars or something."

"Good," Floyd said. "That's enough to buy us burgers at a fast food place."

"But- but I was gonna use it for something…" Joss said hesitantly.

"What for?"

Jesus wavered. He didn't want to tell John about the drugs. "N- nothing. Never mind. We can get burgers."

"Great," Floyd said. _And maybe I'll find work there._

Soon enough, the two men were eating hamburgers inside an air-conditioned fast food restaurant. While placing his order, Floyd had asked the person behind the counter if there were any jobs available. She had said no, but suggested he go somewhere else- "there's a spot open at the new coffeehouse downtown." Floyd thanked her and wondered how he would get there without directions.

Joss tore into his burger hungrily while Floyd packaged his up. He would save the food for later. "Man, I feel like I haven't eaten for years!" Joss gasped. "I haven't eaten since I got here."

"When was that?" Floyd asked.

"A few days ago. I dunno, man, I lost track." Joss gulped down a huge bite of his burger.

"What have you been living on?" Floyd inquired. Joss grinned. "Pot," he said. "Pot and sm-"

Just then Joss's words were cut off when a newcomer entered the restaurant. It wasn't as if her presence caused a hush to fall over the diners- in fact, everything went along just as noisily as it had been before, and no one but Jesus paid the newcomer any mind. He stared, his words to John forgotten. All he could see was the young woman who had come in, a bright, shiny thing in his mind.

She looked to be about his own age of twenty, with an angelic face and long black hair that fell down her back, tied in a ponytail. She wore a basball cap and a fitted T-shirt with jeans. Her body looked slim and supple, able to give way under Jesus's hand. Her expression was alert and intent as she crossed the floor and stood in line to place her order.

_Wow. _The woman's beauty had struck Jesus speechless. _Wow. _He could have sat there all day, staring tongue-tied at this woman, but John said, "Joss? What are you looking at?"

Joss exclaimed to Floyd, "Do you see that girl over there?"

Floyd turned and saw a young woman standing in line by the counter. "Why, do you know her?" Joss shrugged, still staring. "What's her name?" Floyd asked.

"Whatsername!" Joss blurted. "That must be it! How do you know her, John?" He stared loopily at Floyd, who was suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He peered into his company's eyes. Past the green, he saw the telltale signs that made his heart sink. This young man was as high as a kite.

_Did I really just pick up a junkie? Really really really?_

"I… I don't know her," he said, trying to look away from Joss's eyes. "I'm pretty sure that's not her na-"

"I have to talk to her!" Joss said, getting up. "Hey…" He made his unsteady way over to the woman, who was just about to place her order.

"I'll have one-" she began, but was stopped when Jesus approached her. "Whatsername!" he cried, proud to have recognized her. She stared confusedly at him, and he noticed that her eyes were brown.

"I'll have one cheeseburger with fries," she said. "No drink." Jesus reached out and touched her hand, and she pulled it sharply away from him. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Jesus of Suburbia," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

"The Jesus of Suburbia?" She stared at him, unsure of whether he was being serious or not. "That sure is one hell of a name."

"I know," Jesus said proudly. "And I know yours. It's Whatsername."

The woman paused before letting out a short titter of laughter. "No, actually it's-"

Suddenly Jesus became aware of a presence behind his back. He turned and looked at John, but he wasn't looking at him. Jesus swept his eyes across the room, before they landed on- St. Jimmy?

"Jimmy?" Jesus blurted. He was standing between two booths, staring silently at Jesus with flaming eyes. Jesus looked over at Whatsername and back at St. Jimmy. "I'm sorry, I have to go," he said, making his way back through the line.

"Goodbye, Jesus of Suburbia," Whatsername said, befuddled.

Jesus went over to Jimmy, but before he could get there, the man leapt forward and grabbed him by the arm. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He dragged him out of the restaurant.

Floyd, watching Joss leave, blinked. Joss seemed to be glaring at an unseen entity, and he moved his arm as if someone else was holding onto it. _It's probably just a hallucination_, Floyd thought, unable to believe he had been so stupid as to pick up a junkie. He walked out of the restaurant with Joss not even looking at him. He seemed to be arguing with the air.

"I was hungry, man! I haven't had anything to eat since I got to the city!"

"So you spend the money I gave you this morning, money that was meant for drugs, on fast food?" Jimmy spat. "I thought I could trust you, Jesus, but I guess you can't handle it!"

"I'm sorry, all right? I want the drugs as badly as you do. But food comes first, man." Jesus wasn't sure why Jimmy should be so angry at him. If Jimmy had been starving before, he would have understood.

"Don't you get it?" St. Jimmy said. "There is no more eating around here. No more wasting your time on trivial things like that. All you can consume now is weed and smack. No questions asked."

"But I don't want that all the time," Jesus whined. "I need to have real food."

Jimmy ignored him. "And what about that man you were with? Who's he and what's he have anything to do with you?"

"His name's John," Jesus said. "He just moved here like I did. He helped me when I was looking for your dealer. I bought him lunch."

"But did you find my dealer? Nooo," Jimmy said. "And that man's name was not John. That was Pink Floyd, the singer you like. Older and washed up, maybe, but it was him. You were too stupid to realize it."

"I'm not stupid," Jesus bristled. "And he said he wasn't Pink. There's no way that was him."

"You're wrong and I'm right," Jimmy said nonchalantly. "Remember that, Jesus. Don't trust yourself. Just trust me."

He waited before asking, "And who was that woman you were with?"

"I…" Jesus thought. "I don't know, man. She goes by Whatsername. At least that's what John said."

"Fool," Jimmy hissed. His face was hard-set, his eyebrows angling downward. "I don't want you to go after that woman, you understand? She's not of your kind. She's not of our kind."

"Why?" Jesus asked. He hadn't been planning on following Whatsername, but now that Jimmy said he couldn't have her, he wanted her more than ever. "She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

"She's bad news. You don't know her like I do. She's an American idiot."

Jesus stared at St. Jimmy. "No way! She's cool."

"You barely know her, idiot!" Jimmy shot, and Jesus felt his heart skip a beat.

"Don't call me that," he snarled. "Don't call me an idiot again. You hear? I swear, if you ever say that again I'm gonna-"

"Son?" Jesus looked up and his heart skipped another beat. A police officer was headed his way.

"Son, is there a problem here? What's your name?"

"None of your fucking business," Jesus spat. "I was talking to my…" His voice trailed off when he realized that St. Jimmy was gone. He seemed to have disappeared in thin air.

"…friend," Jesus finished. He quickly turned and ran away, far away from the cop.

Ziggy exited the hotel that morning with high hopes. He'd spent the night trying to sleep, and had gotten a few winks, but mostly he had been too excited with the thought of what was to come the next day. He had heard some whimpers from the bed beside him- Floyd seemed to be gripped by a nightmare- but it wasn't enough to break his mood. Today, Ziggy was going to strike a new record deal and continue his musical career. It was about time.

As he walked, platform shoes hitting the ground, Ziggy passed a clothing store, which he stopped and looked longingly at. The clothes it was offering were stylish and chic, just the kind of thing that Ziggy would love to try on. He sighed and continued on his way, telling himself that he'd go shopping as soon as he had enough money.

After a long time spent searching, Ziggy finally asked a passerby if there was a recording studio anywhere near here. The passerby pointed him in the right direction, and soon Ziggy was off again, setting the directions in his memory. He soon came upon the building the passerby had spoken up- a large place, with at least three stories.

Ziggy entered the studio and looked around. There were a few chairs and a sofa in the main room, with a rug on the floor and a table on the rug, covered in magazines. The walls were littered with records of all kinds, and Ziggy was impressed. This place must be pretty good if they'd signed that many artists. He approached the reception desk and rang a bell. Presently a woman showed up and stared at him.

"Hello, do you have an appointment?"

"No, and I wouldn't like to make one," Ziggy said. "I want to see the owner of this studio rght now. The manager, if you will. I have something important to say."

The woman scrutinized him. She'd never seen this man before in her life, and she felt that she would have remembered someone who looked this outrageous. If he was one of the manager's friends, he certainly hadn't been around the place before. "Do I know you, sir?"

"No, but you might have heard of me," Ziggy said. "I'm Ziggy Stardust. I'm a singer from London. I was about to go on tour here before my plane went down over the Atlantic Ocean. I've written a few songs you might know- 'Starman,' 'Changes…'

At the last song title, the woman's eyes brightened.

"Ziggy Stardust! Oh, it's you!" she said. "You're the one who sings that lovely song, 'Changes.'" Then her tone got more serious. "But what are you doing here, and what do you want from the manager?"

A bit unnerved by the way his fame and apparent coming-back from the dead didn't seem to surprise the women, Ziggy stated, "I want to work for him. I want to record here. I want the world to know I'm alive and back again."

"Wel, I'll see if he can't come down here," the receptionist said. She got up and went to a flight of stairs. "Just wait here." Ziggy nodded and waited.

Presently a man came down, a heavyset man with a mustache and a balding head. He was holding a cigar pinched in one hand. "I don't believe it until I see it, Denise," he was grumbling. "We've gotten too many nutters already… If that man's here I'm…"

He trailed off as he got down the stairs and saw Ziggy. "Well hello," he said, suspicious. "What can I do for you?"

Ziggy offered his hand. "Pleased to meet you," he said. "The best thing you can do for me is sign me."

The manager did not take Ziggy's hand. He scratched his chin. The most he'd heard about Ziggy Stardust was that he was a singer who was sure to be popular in America. Apparently he was quite the sensation in Britain. The manager had gotten stacks of Ziggy's single, 'Changes,' to promote in America, but on the day they arrived, news came in that a plane carrying the up and coming singer had crashed in the sea. Ziggy's body was not found, but since then he'd had scores of people pretending to be Ziggy coming to him and trying to get signed to his label. Most of them were from the underground- Ziggy's music was not mainstream in America, at least not yet. The manager had come to distrust anyone who claimed to be Ziggy Stardust.

Looking upon this man, he supposed this was the best façade he'd seen yet. The manager hadn't seen many pictures of Ziggy, but certain things always came through that no poser could replicate to perfection- the pointed ears, the pale skin, the discoloured eyes… This man was a dead on impersonator, if he was an impersonator. To start with, the accent was so clear it sounded authentic, unlike the Americans trying on British accents who had come in before. His ears were so pointed that it was almost unnerving, seeing how inhuman they were. His skin was bone-white, something that no mere poser to reproduce, and his eyes…

The manager stared intently into Ziggy's eyes, and was shocked. Even the cleverest of all posers had only put a darker colored contact in one eye to reproduce Ziggy's bodily oddity. But this, he could see, was not the work of a poser. For the first time, the manager noticed that Ziggy's- if it was Ziggy- eyes weren't just odd-eyed. One of his pupils was larger than the other, permanently dilated. The manager felt a little shiver run up his spine.

"You're Ziggy Stardust," he declared, and there was no doubt about it. Ziggy smiled. "Do I have to sing to prove my identity?"

"No… that's won't be necessary," he mumbled, and Ziggy sighed in relief. "Good, because I'm bloody tired of singing all the time! You'd be surprised how often I've gotten requests. But enough of that…" He waved his hand in the manager's face. "The sooner you can take me on, the better."

"But… but this is crazy!" the manager blurted, still not taking Ziggy's hand. "You're supposed to be dead! How in the world did you survive the plane crash?"

"I'd tell you," Ziggy said, "but I'm pretty sure you wouldn't believe me. It's been a mad ride here in America. I'd prefer not to talk about it."

The manager was convinced now that he had found the real Ziggy Stardust, and he was elated. His studio would get credit for being the first to sign the artist in America. And not only that, but he himself would be given the credit for finding the young singer again in the first place. He could be a hero for this.

"Well, why don't you just start with the bare facts," the manager said. "How did you survive?"

"I swam to shore," Ziggy said. "I saw the destruction of New York City with my own eyes. How did that happen, anyway?"

"What- how did New York disappear?" The manager shrugged. "No one can really explain it. Call me crazy, but it seems to have just dissolved into thin air. What did you see?"

"A purple mist ate it," Ziggy said. "Anyway, I traveled until I came here. All I want to do now is get a contract and start performing again." He hesitated. "How much do you know about my music?"

"I heard you were the next big thing in England," the manager said. "That your music is all about hope and forgetting your fears. The only song of yours that's really popular here is 'Changes.' That's a popular song in the underground, mostly, but it gets some airplay on mainstream FM radio, especially now that everyone thinks you're dead."

"'Changes,'" Ziggy repeated, nodding his head. It gave him an odd satisfaction to hear that people had been enjoying his music when he was indisposed from the public eye. "I guess my music is all about hope. At least, it's intended to be that way." He leaned in towards the manager, gazing intently at him, which the manager found disturbing. "I'm trying to spread a message of hope to all these people in the last days of their lives. I mean, I want to try and save them through music. I want them to forget that the world is going to end- to have them trust me with their lives."

The manager backed away in his chair. He had to admit, Ziggy's goal was the best thing he had heard recently coming from any of his clients. Most of them had called the record deal off once they found out the world was going to end. They didn't want to spend the rest of their life working in the studio when they could be spending time with their families. And so the studio- and its owner- had begun to lose money. But here was a singer who wanted to spend the entirety of the five years left on Earth doing nothing but record albums. And if he was so popular in Britain, he could make the studio- and its owner- very rich. He was sure Ziggy was going to become famous.

"That's a great goal you have there," the manager said to Ziggy. "Pretty lofty, but not unobtainable." Ziggy smiled a small smile at him, not daring to hope for too much. The manager continued, "The world might not forget its problems entirely, but I believe your voice can bring happiness to a million poor souls. Can you-" he hesitated. "I'm sorry for asking, but can you sing something for us? Something that's not 'Changes?'"

Ziggy shrugged. "The last time I sang after a week of doing nothing but, I lost my voice. But I'm obliged to perform for you." _I guess. _"Have you got a guitar on you somewhere? Acoustic, if possible." His fingers were itching to get back into practice.

"Of course!" said the manager. "Denise, run off and get a guitar from the studio, will you?" The receptionist dashed off, and Ziggy cracked an all-out grin at the manager. "I haven't played guitar in weeks. This is going to be so exciting!"

Denise came back soon enough with a guitar clutched in her hands, which Ziggy gladly took. He marveled at its dark wood, and plucked a string. The sound sent shivers running through his body. _Ahhhh_. He could have sat there, tuning and untuning the instrument just to hear its voice, but he knew the manager was waiting. So Ziggy took a deep breath, hoped his voice was well-oiled, and sang 'Starman' for the audience of two.

"_There's a starman, waiting in the sky. He'd like to come a meet us, but he thinks he'll blow our minds. There's a starman, waiting in the sky. He's told us not to blow it 'cuase he knows it's all worthwhile. He told me- 'Let the children use it! Let the children lose it! Let all the children boogie!'"_

Once Ziggy was done with his performance, he looked tentatively up at the manager, who started clapping. "Impressive," he said. "That's a good one."

"Thank you," Ziggy said. He played idly with the guitar strings. "So, about the recording contract…"

"I'd hire you right away," the manager said. "But are you sure you aren't… indebted to another studio?"

Ziggy groaned lightly. He didn't want to think about contractual obligations. "I had a requirement from my record label that said I was to make three albums with them. But now my entire touring entourage is dead, and I'm not sure if they too were obligated. My backing band was on that plane, you know, and I recorded the entire album with them. If they can no longer perform for the record label, I don't feel required to work with it either."

"I see," said the manager, although he didn't really. "Well, don't worry yourself about it. I'll get everything sorted out." Referring to the plane crash had started some wheels turning in his brain. He imagined a headline with a photo of Ziggy underneath- THE MIRACULOUS RECOVERY OF ZIGGY STARDUST. If this story could get some press coverage, everyone would be interested in what the singer had to say, which in turn would be beneficial to the recording studio.

"Thank you," Ziggy said. "Now, may I sign a contract?"

"Not quite yet," the manager said. "Ziggy, how would you feel about being interviewed for the paper?"

"Well, I suppose I wouldn't mind," Ziggy said, bewildered. "What has that got to do with-"

The manager cut off his question. "I'll send for a journalist to come out here right away. We have to alert the press that you're alive and well. Don't you think they'd like to hear your story?" The manager made a frame with his fingers. "ZIGGY STARDUST- THE MIRACULOUS SURVIVAL STORY! Wouldn't that make for a great headline?"

"I suppose…" Ziggy said impatiently. He didn't want to be interviewed right away- he would only stop feeling uneasy when the manager got him his contract. "Just tell me that as soon as this thing is done with, I'll sign to your studio."

"Of course," the manager said, offering his hand. "You have my word." They shook on it.

It wasn't long before a journalist arrived, not very fussed over her assignment and wondering for the life of her what the big deal was. She was greeted by a plump man in a pinstripe suit- the typical outfit for those in the music business- and directed into a room, where the oddest-looking man she had ever seen sat on a plush sofa. She couldn't stop staring, and was hardly able to return his warm smile. He had to prompt her to start the questions. "Just take your time. I'm in a bit of a hurry, but it's not a problem." She had a hard time getting in control, but eventually ended up being able to conduct the interview in a professional way.

She learned that this man was a new singer named Ziggy Stardust. She learned that he had been the sole survivor of the plane crash that took place by New York a few weeks ago. She remembered vaguely the details of said crash- something about a rock star's entourage, and a missing body… He had a song that was popular in America, a song called 'Changes.' The name dimly rang a bell. But despite her professional angle, she kept returning in her thoughts to his looks and personality. He was witty and quite charming, but there was something about his odd, discolored blue eyes that put her off. His skin was unnaturally white, and beneath his flame-red hair were pointed ears, the type that mythical elves were supposed to have. He had a handsome British accent, though, so he couldn't be too foreign. But at the same time, he claimed to be from Mars. He said he had been sent from his dead planet to save the Earth from impending destruction. Though she guessed it was just a gimmick to get him more publicity, she walked away from the interview wondering if Ziggy Stardust really was what he claimed to be.

Ziggy walked away from the interview feeling exhausted- and famished. He hadn't eaten since that morning in the hotel, as they had served free breakfast. Now it was nearly noon. He watched the manager approach him, and was surprised when he placed a small amount of cash into Ziggy's hand.

"This is your payment from the interview," the manager said. "Fifty dollars."

Try as he might to hide his disappointment, Ziggy couldn't help but let the words "That's all?" slip out.

"Yes, that's all," the manager said. "Now, about your contract…"

"That's not enough to live on," Ziggy blurted, and then wished he hadn't said anything. He felt like a nuisance for complaining. The manager gave him a glance. "I mean, I arrived here without much money. I barely had enough to stay a night in a hotel. And-" he fought the words, but they struggled out of his mouth anyway- "I'm very hungry…"

The manager looked at Ziggy, sweeping his eyes up and down the young man's body. He realized that Ziggy was very, painfully thin. He cringed internally. This man probably hadn't eaten for weeks, and the manager was putting him through an interview and forcing him to sing and underpaying him. His heart went out to Ziggy- but he was loth to relinquish the rest of the money from the interview.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, casting his hand into his pocket and drawing out his credit card. "The contract can wait. I'll take you out to eat."

The manager took Ziggy to a nice restaurant, a place where they could eat real food, as opposed to the fast food that Ziggy and Floyd had enjoyed on their first time in Suffragette City. As Ziggy tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach, the manager took the time to introduce himself and explain for the benefit of his friend who had never visited America what Suffragette City was like. He said his name was Billy Parker, and that he'd been in the music business for his entire career. Apparently Floyd's guess about Suffragette City having stored up all the energy on the East Coast was pretty much true. "We're the only town still surviving around here, as far as we know," Billy said. "It's something the city prides itself on." He explained that Suffragette City was thought of by everyone else in the world as a watered-down version of New York. "Really," Billy said, "it's more of a hybrid between New York and Las Vegas. You might go to Vegas to get rich, but Suffragette City's the real gold here in America." He seemed proud to say that Suffragette City was crawling with all kinds of low-lifes, and even admitted he had a certain kind of respect for them.

"They said New York was better than us," Billy said. "And look what happened? New York doesn't even exist anymore, and we have all the power."

When food finally came along, Billy quit his bragging and Ziggy quit pretending to listen as the two of them dug into their dishes. When a lull in the eating finally came, Billy got down to business. "How many records would you like to make? I can sign you up for a five-year contract, in which you put a new one out every year."

"That doesn't sound bad," Ziggy said. "I'd have to stretch to make this year's deadline-"

"But you have two months to complete it," Billy said. "That's no time at all. Have you been writing anything recently?"

"Some songs," Ziggy said. "A few. Not enough for a whole album."

"That's okay," Billy said. "I'll supply you with a backing band and we'll be good as new. You'll get your album out in no time."

"But, Billy-" Ziggy felt odd using his first name. His old manager had told him not to call him by his first name. "I just want to perform. I need to earn money to buy a place of my own." He considered mentioning Floyd, but decided that Floyd would prefer anonymity. "I can't live in the studio while I work on music- and I can't just do nothing but record. I want to perform and get back out there, especially if there's going to be an interview in tomorrow's paper about me. The public will expect me to start doing something."

Billy nodded. "I see. For your second problem, I think I have a solution." He proposed that Ziggy was given one week to write and record with his new backing band, and then performed live every night while recording during the day. "I'll get you a deal at a club somewhere. Most of them are going out of business anyway- no one wants to hear the pathetic mopey music people play there anymore."

"And what about my living conditions?" Ziggy asked. Billy smiled. "I have just the right idea."

Upon leaving the restaurant, Billy asked Ziggy if there was anywhere in Suffragette City he wanted to go before returning to the studio. "If you want to buy anything, it's on me." Ziggy's eyes instantly lit up. He practically dragged Billy along to the clothing store he had passed on his way to the studio, and then spent a whole hour trying on clothes and putting Billy's credit card through a series of punishing events. Billy swallowed hard, fearing that he might have bitten off more than he could chew with this new client. Ziggy seemed to have a thing for bright colors. He even went into the women's section to shop, because not many of the men's clothing came in his size, and besides, "women's clothing just looks better on me." Billy followed uneasily, hoping that no one would think the freak with sparkly clothes was with him. He got more and more uncomfortable with Ziggy's choices, but stayed relatively calm until Ziggy got his hands on a dress. Then Billy had to draw the line. "Hey! You want your image to be a cross-dressing alien? People will think you're a girl if you wear that!"

"People in London already thought I was a girl," Ziggy said. "I've never worn a dress before. Do you think it would look good?" He held it up to his body and showed it off. Billy found the moment too surreal for his tastes.

"No, it would not look good on you. Put that thing back." Ziggy sighed and replaced the dress. Dressing up like that might have gotten some laughs on Mars, but here it was all scorn and "put that thing back!" _The trouble is, _Ziggy thought, _humans just don't understand gender roles at all. _On Mars, there was practically no gender. If a man did the cooking while his bonded soul worked, that was all right. Or in a more extreme example, men who wore dresses weren't looked down upon any more than women who wore jeans did. There was no supposed role of genders, and little to no stereotypes. Ziggy himself had always identified with the male gender, but his sexuality was a bit more fluid. He didn't care who he was in love with, as long as he or she was pretty and had a generally beautiful personality. Although he had to say, he was partial to non-Martians like the Venusians… He hadn't seen many humans that he'd been attracted to.

After hitting the clothing store, Ziggy made a few more shopping trips before going back to the studio. He purchased a bottle of red hair dye and a pack of cigarettes, and then entered a music store and gazed dreamily at the guitars. He asked Billy if he was willing to spend that much money on a guitar, but Billy said no. "There are plenty at the studio you can use."

"But is there one that I can own for myself?" Ziggy asked.

"There are a few spares," Billy said. "Come on, let's go back. You can pick out the one you want there."

As they rode in a taxi back, Billy explained every setback in the contract to Ziggy. He told Ziggy that there was no way he could go on tour, or even go back to London, because apparently the one thing that Suffragette City hadn't hoarded was fuel for the airplanes. "Even we are not immune to the gradual loss of natural resources," Billy said sadly, looking out the window. "We don't have nearly enough fuel to fly you out of this city. The plane would crash in the middle of nowhere. So you have to only play shows in this city."

"That's all right," Ziggy said, although he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. "I think I like Suffragette City so far."

Billy smiled and lightly socked his shoulder. "That's my boy!"

Back at the studio at last, Ziggy was directed by Denise into the guitar room while Billy went to write up the contract. Ziggy followed Denise into the room, and his jaw dropped. The place was stacked from head to toe with rows upon rows of guitars in every shapes and sizes. A lot of them had labels on them saying they belonged to such-and-such artist, but Ziggy gleefully found a few that weren't claimed by anyone. He grabbed them all and spread them over the floor to agonize over his decision. Maybe he would test one first…

Just as Ziggy reached out and stroked the neck of the guitar in front of him, a muddle of voices came sailing down the hall. Ziggy looked up and saw three men enter the room through the hall. They seemed to be arguing with each other, and didn't notice Ziggy right away. The one with the loudest voice had sticky-up dark hair, so dark brown it was almost black, and bushy eyebrows. He was thin for a human. The one he was yelling at particularly had light brown hair and carried drumsticks in his pocket, and was the shortest of the three. The last one had smooth, dark brown hair- though not as dark as the first man's- and was heavier set than the rest. He looked on as the two argued, a worried look on his face. All three men wore black.

"Hello," Ziggy said, and suddenly the argument stopped. The three men stared at Ziggy in surprise. Their eyes were wide and blinking rapidly. Finally the first man broke the spell by walking forward. "Hello. Who are you?"

"I'm Ziggy Stardust," Ziggy said. "Who are _you_?"

The man extended his hand. "I'm Weird and this is my band." Ziggy stood up and shook hands with Weird. The other two men hung back, gaping. Weird looked over at them and sighed in exasperation. "Well, come on! He may be a rock star, but that's no reason to fear him!"

Slowly, the two other men came forward and shook hands with Ziggy. The heavier-set man with smooth hair introduced himself- "My name is Gilly."

"And I'm Henry!" the other man piped up before he had even gotten a chance to shake hands with Ziggy. Weird folded his arms and looked on.

"Gilly plays bass and I play guitar. Rhythm guitar, that is. Henry just hangs around with us musicians." Henry and Gilly stepped over the guitars on the floor and knelt down to look at them. Weird poked Henry in the back. "Say, Henry, what do you call a drummer without a girlfriend?"

"I don't know, what?" Henry asked. Weird grinned wickedly. "Homeless!" He and Gilly cracked up and high-fived each other while Henry glared and tightened his fists.

"How did you know I was a rock star?" Ziggy asked.

"Oh, it was Parker," Weird said. "Billy, I mean. We call him Parker. He came into his office and shouted at us to leave-"

"What were you doing in his office?" Ziggy asked.

Weird clucked his tongue. "It's a secret. Well, anyway, he came in mumbling about how he needed some fresh ink to write a contract. So we knew that someone had just signed on. And you're new here- we've never seen you before. So it must be you."

"You're Ziggy Stardust," Gilly suddenly said. Ziggy blinked. "Yes, I am."

"Dude!" Henry exclaimed, standing up. "I've heard of you! Gilly and I love your music, man!"

"Not just 'Changes?'" Ziggy questioned, and Henry and Gilly nodded. "We have your album- _The Rise of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars. _It's really, really good."

"Weird doesn't listen to that kind of stuff," Henry explained, and Weird glared. "Shut up, you."

"Well, I'm quite pleased to hear you say you like my music!" Ziggy exclaimed. "It's really quite flattering."

"Yeah," Weird said dismissively. "I guess now we're going to be your backing band- the Spiders From Mars or whatever the hell you call it. Parker's sure to want us to play whatever you want us to."

"We don't get paid very much, even though we do all the work," Gilly interjected.

"We don't even get our names credited on the albums," Henry added on to that.

Ziggy frowned. "But that can't be right." He was surprised that Billy would let anything like that happen. "You deserve your names on the albums you played on. I know I credited every artist who performed on my first album. I'll talk with P- Billy…"

"Aw, he won't listen to you," Weird cut in. "I know because I've tried it myself." His voice turned sickeningly sweet, and a mock-smile appeared on his face. "He smiles and nods and agrees to whatever you say, but the next day he forgets all about it!"

Gilly and Henry nodded in assent, and Ziggy's frown grew deeper. His heart went out to these mistreated musicians. "Well, now you work for me," he said. "I promise I won't behave that way!"

"What do you mean?" Henry asked.

"I mean, I'm employing you to be my backing band," Ziggy said. "Right now. And I won't let executive meddling stop me from putting your names on the album. You're going to play live with me and everything."

"That's far out!" Gilly exclaimed. "When do we start?"

Ziggy smiled. "As soon as possible."

"Groovy, man!" Henry laughed, and he and Gilly turned to Weird. Weird shrugged. "As long as you keep your promise and let us work with you on everything," he said. "Mostly we just get stepped on around here. We've had people yell at us and tell us what we're playing is wrong. We've had people ignore us and pretend not to listen when we talk. We've also had people who bullied us into playing music with violence." A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, but was stopped in its tracks. "Now, if you can not be like that…"

"I won't," Ziggy answered sincerely. "You're not going to just be my session musicians. You're going to be my live backing band." He patted Weird's shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Have you got a band name yet?"

"Henry wanted to call us 'The Hellraising Death Dragons,' but I don't think that's a good idea," Gilly said.

"Yes it was," Henry sighed. "You people don't understand true genius."

Ziggy laughed. "Well, how does 'The Spiders From Mars' sound to you?"

Weird, Gilly, and Henry looked at each other. Then Weird slowly nodded. "Spiders From Mars it is, then."

They shook on it, and then left abruptly as they'd came, saying they didn't want to be around when Billy gave Ziggy his contract. Ziggy was left to his own devices, marveling over the vibrant personalities of his new backing band. _I have a new backing band! _That mere thought alone was enough to fill him with elation. He looked over the unmarked guitars again, and finally decided on two to try out, one acoustic and one electric. As soon as Ziggy started playing the acoustic, he sighed in pleasure. It was like welcoming back an old friend.

Soon Billy came in and handed his contract off to Ziggy, which Ziggy signed in blue ink. Billy was smiling as he handed it back. "Ziggy, you're going to be a star."

"I already am one," Ziggy said. "But thank you."

Before he left the studio, he placed a piece of tape on the electric guitar he'd chosen and wrote his initials on it. Now he was part of the studio too. The other guitar stayed in Ziggy's arms to take home with him. Just before he walked out the door, Billy came up to him and tossed him a set of keys.

"You need to hear the address again?" he asked.

"No, thank you," Ziggy said. "I've got it memorized. Thank you for the contract."

"No problem," Billy said. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

"All right." Ziggy opened the door and was about to leave when he thought of something else. "Billy, I've hired the Spiders From Mars as my backing band- the session musicians, Weird, Gilly, and Henry?"

Billy sighed. "So you've met them? I'm sorry that we don't have any better musicians to provide you with at the moment."

"I haven't heard them play, but they seem like nice people," Ziggy said. "They told me they get little to no writing credit on albums. Is that true?"

"Well, yes, but session musicians aren't usually credited anyway," Billy said.

Ziggy rolled his eyes. "I find that hard to believe."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Billy asked.

"Stop hurting and insulting the musicians, for one," Ziggy said. "And now that they're my Spiders, they're under my protection. I don't believe in unethical treatment of humans."

Billy, sizing Ziggy up and down, was sure that this bony, small man could do nothing to stop him. However, he said, "Whatever you say."

"Good." Ziggy broke out smiling. "See you tomorrow." He walked out the door and into the street, happiness blossoming inside of him. He headed back to the hotel.

Floyd had looked all over the city for work, but it appeared that no one wanted to hire him. _God, I hope Ziggy got some money today. _He wasn't sure where they were going to spend the night, and wandered back to the hotel they'd stayed in the night before to wait for Ziggy.

He smelled Ziggy's arrival before he saw him. The wind blew into Floyd's face, carrying with it the scents of cigarette smoke and citronella, an odd combination. Ziggy appeared before Floyd, carrying an acoustic guitar slung over his back, a bottle of red hair dye, several shopping bags with a clothing store's name on them, and smoking a cigarette. The pack that the cigarette had come out of made a lump in Ziggy's pocket.

"Hi, Floyd!" Ziggy exclaimed, rushing forward. He was burbling over with excitement. "Floyd, I got the contract! I'm to start recording with my new band tomorrow morning!"

"That's great news!" Floyd said as Ziggy hugged him. His body stiffened, and Ziggy pulled away. His lovely blue eyes were glowing. "I met the owner of the studio- his name is Billy- and he took me out to eat. He offered me a deal- I'm to record and rehearse with my new Spiders for a week, and then next week start playing clubs. Isn't that great? Billy also took me shopping, which is where I got all these fabulous clothes!" He started pulling some out of the bags. "I even bought some in your size, Floyd- Billy was keeping far away from me while I was shopping, so he didn't notice what I bought. I can't imagine why."

"Did you mention me at all?" Floyd cut in, praying that Ziggy had enough sense after hearing his story the night before.

Ziggy shook his head. "Of course not. I thought you'd prefer it that way." He looked at Floyd curiously. "Speaking of you, what did you do all day, Floyd?"

Floyd would have loved to just spend the rest of the night listening to Ziggy talk a mile a minute, and found the subject change unpleasant. "Oh, I just wandered about looking for work." He thought of mentioning Joss, but then decided that could be his own little secret. "No one was hiring."

"Too bad," Ziggy said dismissively. "Have you gotten anything to eat today, Floyd?"

"Don't call me that," Floyd corrected Ziggy. "I don't want anyone to know my real name here. You can call me John Andrews." _My father's name…_

"All right, John," Ziggy said. "Have you gotten anything to eat? No- don't bother answering that. I've got to tell you the best news of the day!"

"What?" Floyd said warily.

"Billy has rented an apartment just for us! He says that musicians who record temporarily at his studio often stay there. He's gotten the penthouse just for us- and the best part is, he's paying for it!"

Floyd's forehead bunched up. This sounded too good to be true. "Are you sure we won't have to pay, Ziggy?"

"I'm sure." Ziggy said. "He gave me his word. Not to mention the keys and the address. Besides, once I start performing I'll be making enough money for us to live on. Shall we go find out where this place is, Floyd? I mean, John."

"Sure," Floyd said. "Why not." He followed his love down the street, watching protectively in case anyone in the shadows jumped out and tried to steal Ziggy's guitar. Fortunately, they made it to the apartment complex safe and sound. Ziggy told the guard his name, and then they climbed the stairs up to the penthouse. When Ziggy unlocked the door, he gasped. "This place is bigger than the hotel!"

An uncomfortable memory ran across Floyd's mind, a memory of the same words, only inverted- _This place is bigger than our whole apartment! _He cursed silently at his mind and walked in.

Ziggy was checking the place out. "Look, Floyd!" he called from an unseen location. "There's a separate room just for you! And it's got a bunk bed!"

Floyd walked in to see. The room was small and held only a dresser, a bunk bed, and a wide window that looked out onto the alleyway. Adjacent to that bedroom was a bathroom. Out in the main room, a television set sat in front of a wide couch, and a few chairs were sitting around a table. On the left-hand side of the room, a different door led to another bedroom, one that was much wider than Floyd's. The bed was bigger, and another bathroom was connected to the room. Ziggy instantly hopped onto the bed and tried out the mattress by rolling around. "It's not very soft, but it's all right," he said to Floyd. "Better than a floor, eh?"

Floyd couldn't speak. At the moment Ziggy had leapt on the bed, images had filled his head of himself jumping up on the mattress as well and lying down alongside Ziggy…

He shook his head fiercely, trying to rid himself of these images, and Ziggy misinterpreted the action. "Oh, come on now, Floyd. I thought we weren't going to argue about that anymore. You've got a bed in your own room now."

"Yes, I have," Floyd murmured, turning away from Ziggy's handsome face. "I… I think I'll go check it out."

As soon as he was alone, he pulled out the letter he'd written to Audrey and stared at it. _This is who you love. This is your soul. This is your life. _Then Floyd pulled out the note that Ziggy had written for him in the morning. He weighed the two in his hands and sighed loudly. Then he ripped Ziggy's note into pieces, and walked out into the main room to ask his roommate what the address of the apartment was. The sooner he sent this letter, the better.


	21. Heart Like A Hand Grenade

Chapter Twenty: _Heart Like A Hand Grenade_

While Audrey was out shopping in the marketplace, she heard a voice on the radio that stopped her in her tracks. She listened for a moment, and then quickly thanked the shopkeeper and rushed out of there before the song could continue. _Pink. _Only it wasn't Pink, it was Floyd- the voice of her dead husband. Audrey hugged herself a bit as she walked away from the store, trying not to break down in the middle of the market square. Not that such an act would be very unusual, as many women had been seen crying in the streets as the town got ravaged more and more often, ravaged by people who wanted more food and more fuel. The town was slowly running out on supplies, and Audrey could feel more than ever that the end of the world was nigh.

Lately, however, her problems hadn't been revolving around the five-year deadline for Earth. No, Audrey's recent problems involved the singer on the radio she had just heard, the singer who was no more. Her husband, Floyd Pinkerton, was unquestionably dead. Even though his body hadn't been found, there was no way he could have survived the plane crash. It had occurred too far from the coast for him to swim to safety. After two weeks of waiting, Audrey had finally given up hope. Floyd was dead, and there would be no funeral, nor even proof of his death.

She was infuriated for many reasons. The first was that Floyd's body had not been found. Couldn't the search-and-rescuers at least have retrieved that for her, for a proper way to say goodbye? The second was similar- Floyd would never have a proper burial now. It outraged Audrey to think of that. He deserved to be buried somewhere in the Earth, on land, and near her, not swallowed up in the sea.

And the last reason for Floyd's death infuriating Audrey was that no one knew who it was that had actually died. The media wasted their coverage on the death of Ziggy Stardust-"a rock star gone far too soon." Little did they know, there had been two rock stars on the plane. Audrey imagined the looks on people's faces if she had told them that the second passenger who had not been found was none other than the retired musician, Pink Floyd. She couldn't believe it. His death deserved more attention, for all the wonderful music he had put out during his lifetime. And yet no one was even aware that it was he who had died.

It was wearing on her more every day. The death had been especially hard on Eva, who could not accept that her father was gone. Audrey hadn't been able to explain to her that Floyd was dead. Eva had never known about death before. All Audrey could bring herself to say was "Daddy's not coming home. I'm so sorry."

Since then, Eva had become more than mopey, more than crying in her sleep every night. She had become withdrawn, and rarely spoke to Audrey. Audrey could not get her to learn her lessons for the life of her. All she did was scribble doodles on the paper. Audrey was scared by this change in her child. She seemed to have become like Floyd, back when he was the rock star Pink and lived in a world behind a wall. But Eva was only five years old. She couldn't be that depressed, not as her young age…

"I know it hurts, Eva!" she said to her daughter when she had refused one lesson too many. "But Daddy wouldn't want you to be sad. If he could see you now-"

Eva had let out a long wail and run from the room. She obviously didn't want to hear it. Audrey had to compose herself before she went upstairs to try to comfort her. She was on the verge of breaking into tears. _Damn you, Floyd! Why did you have to accept to go on tour with Ziggy…_

Speaking of Ziggy, it bothered Audrey a bit that Floyd wasn't the only person Eva was mourning for. When Eva was sleeping fretfully at night, Audrey would examine her drawings she had done during the day with a growing worry inside of her. They showed a bright person who was obviously Ziggy, the red lightning bolt on his face giving him away, with a dark black X through him. She didn't draw such things involving Floyd. The drawings were accompanied by Eva's rendering of Ziggy's name, followed by a string of NO NO NO NO.

Personally, Audrey was finding both of their deaths hard to take, but she hadn't known Ziggy as long as she'd known Floyd. She hadn't been utterly in love with him. So why did Eva take Ziggy's death so hard, harder than her father's death, even?

One of the downsides of Floyd's death- as if there were any upsides- was that Audrey now had to take Eva into town with her on grocery errands, fearful of what the child would do alone in the house. Eva now saw firsthand the burnt-out houses and the struggle for food and supplies. There was no way to shield her daughter from the horrors.

And it also made Eva privy to Audrey's moments of emotion, as now, when Audrey rushed her quickly out of the store to get away from Floyd's music. Before, she might have taken Eva out of there to protect her from the knowledge that her father was once a rock star. Now, she hustled her away to protect Eva from seeing Audrey's emotions.

As Audrey drove back home and unbuckled her daughter's seatbelt, she noticed that the flag on the mailbox was sticking up. That was strange. Audrey hardly ever got mail.

She walked Eva over to the mailbox and checked inside. As soon as she saw the return address, her heart stopped.

FLOYD PINKERTON.

"Oh my God," Audrey breathed. _HE'S ALIVE! He's alive… _But then her senses kicked in. Either Floyd was alive, or someone was playing a very cruel trick on her.

Hardly breathing, Audrey took Eva inside and sat her down on the couch. She opened the letter with a pounding heart and then eagerly devoured its contents. As she read, tears began pouring down her face. _He's alive._

_Dearest Audrey,_

_It's been three weeks since I last saw you, three weeks since Ziggy's tour plane crashed in the ocean. Contrary to what you might believe, I am alive and well, and so is Ziggy. We miraculously were the only survivors of the crash. Call it an act of God or whatever you will. I am thankful for my life._

_I miss you dearly, Audrey. In fact, I miss you more every day. But now is not the time to talk of how much I love you, how much I wish you were here. There's too much to say about what I've been doing all this time in America. If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. But I'm telling you anyway._

_After the plane crashed, Ziggy and I spent a long, painful night swimming to shore. We ended up just outside of New York City and fell asleep there. When we awoke, there was a slight earthquake, and during it the city of New York was swallowed up by a purple haze. We met a young man named Rael who used to live in New York City. His story is even madder than Ziggy's, so I won't delve into that. The important thing is, we banded together and began searching for the city that Ziggy's tour was stopping in after New York- Suffragette City. The entirety of the East Coast of America was desolate, with a lot of fallen trees. We saw no other humans besides ourselves for three days. We survived by raiding abandoned convenience stores and building fires at night that we hoped the search and rescue planes might see. None of them caught sight of us, though._

_After three days of travelling through the wilderness, we came across an abandoned part of the suburbs, right outside of Suffragette City. A gang lived there, a gang of young boys who had a rivalry with Rael. They took him prisoner and made us members of their gang. We lived with them for two weeks, because there was danger lurking outside of the ghost town. A group of people from the suburbs were controlling them, surrounding the border and not letting anyone pass through without killing them. Also at this time, a young girl named Mylo came and joined the gang from the suburbs._

_The breaking point came when the drivers- so called because all of them came in black cars- attacked the gang's house, surrounding it when we were sleeping. They had apparently been accidentally led there by Mylo. The gang won the fight, but its leader, Michael, banished Mylo for what she had done. That night, Ziggy and I were woken up by a gang member, Xyloto, who had fallen in love with Mylo and wanted to go after her. We agreed to come with him to offer protection, and also to simply get the hell out of a dangerous position. The next morning we found Mylo, who led us to the suburbs and provided us with clothing, food, and money. After three more days of travel, Ziggy and I finally ended up in Suffragette City- just today we arrived, in fact._

_It's been a wild trip for both of us, that I can say. I'm not sure what the first step in our plan is going to be. I am in a hotel and I am missing you more than ever. I hope that Ziggy can find a way to make money with his music and establish it quickly enough so that we can buy a residence here in Suffragette City. No one in America has recognized me so far (except for Michael, but he won't tell anyone), but I don't want to take chances. As soon as I can, I am getting back on a plane and flying home to you._

_I hope this letter doesn't come as quite a shock to you, assuming you've assumed I'm dead. I do hope Eva is doing well. Have you told her about death yet? _

_Audrey, I love you with every ounce of my soul, and I wish you were here. Please write back._

_Your loving husband,_

_Floyd Pinkerton_

_P.S.- Ziggy sends love and kisses to you and Eva._

As soon as she was done reading the letter, Audrey was smiling with barely-contained joy.

"What is it, Mummy?" Eva asked, and Audrey got out the words, "Daddy and Ziggy are alive! They're safe and sound!" She hugged Eva, who after hearing the contents of Floyd's letter, soon began to smile in return.

Instead of sleeping that night, Jesus of Suburbia lay awake on the grimy mattress, his head spinning wildly. He couldn't stop thinking about that girl he had seen at the fast food place. She was different from any other girl he had encountered. Any girl Jesus had met at school had been plain-looking, interested in books and lessons, or else they were complete sluts who flirted with every guy in town. Jesus and his disciples generally stayed away from girls like that. But this girl… this girl seemed intelligent, but not in an intimidating way. And of course, she was beautiful. Even though he'd only said a few words to her, Jesus knew that he was madly in love.

"Whatsername," Jesus whispered to himself. Now that he wasn't quite as high as before, he realized that maybe John hadn't intended his question to sound like an answer to Jesus's thoughts. And who would name their kid _Whatsername, _anyway? Still, it was the only name that Jesus could call her by. For all intents and purposes, the girl he had met today was Whatsername.

Jesus rose from the mattress and stood up, making his wavering way across sleeping bodies lying around on the floor. He wasn't sure what any of their names were- none of them has said a word to him since he came here. Mostly they just ignored him, and he ignored them right back.

It was pitch-black down in this basement, but as Jesus swayed over to the steps leading up, he saw a glowing sight in front of him- St. Jimmy. Jesus jumped back in surprise. Jimmy's skin seemed to be made of moonlight. He hovered towards Jesus with an expression of firmness on his face, and placed an authoritative hand on Jesus's shoulder. St. Jimmy steered Jesus back to the mattress and sat down beside him, lighting a joint.

"You shouldn't leave this place," Jimmy said. "It's too dangerous to go chasing after a dream."

He held out another lit joint to Jesus. They smoked together, and Jesus's anxiety and thoughts of Whatsername was soon replaced by calmness.

"Thank you, Jimmy," Jesus said, not sure what he was thanking him for, but knowing he had to say it.

"You're welcome." Jimmy lay back on the mattress, and Jesus lay next to him, closing his eyes and washing his mind clean.

Instead of sleeping that night, Ziggy spent the night sitting on his new bed playing guitar. He couldn't wait for tomorrow, when he would finally get back to work on his music. The hours that dragged by were torturous. All Ziggy wanted to do was get into the studio now. But first things first- he had to work out a few songs in his mind.

Ziggy's hands danced on the guitar as he tried out new chord changes. The song he had in mind to work primarily on was 'The Man Who Sold The World.' It had taken a long time to make a decision on the song's style- did he want it to be a ballad or a rock song? Ziggy worked on the guitar with the words fresh in his mind, humming the tune to himself. _Oh, no… not me… I never lost control…_

_You're face to face with the man who sold the world._

Ziggy frowned; his hands had slipped while thinking of what tune to play on the guitar. The sound that had come out of it was an ugly TWANG. Ziggy sighed and set the guitar down in his lap. He'd almost had it… almost thought of a good riff, but the music had vanished, to be replaced by memories.

Ziggy often had trouble sleeping at night, and the sole reason for this was the memories of over a million years that plagued his mind when he was alone. Having lived for as long as he had, it was natural that he should have a lot to remember. However, most of Ziggy's life in outer space hadn't been worth remembering, and so he quite often thought back to the time before, on Mars. And these memories weren't all pleasant, not at all.

He remembered her face quite vividly- remembered the way she had smiled happily into his eyes, a smile made just for him. That was before the truth had come out, before anyone had known that Mars was really dying. Afterwards, her smile had disappeared, and she had stared at him with contempt in her green eyes. Love had grown cold. He'd pleaded with her to stay, trust him- _if you leave me, I'll have no one left to turn to- _but she had followed the bandwagon and walked right out of his door- but never out of his heart.

Ziggy whispered her name to himself and leaned back on the pillows. _I could have saved them. _The knowledge was ever present in his mind. He knew that the responsibility hadn't entirely been up to him, and maybe there had been other Martians in the world who tried similarly to persuade their family and friends to leave, only to have them think them mad. Maybe that was the case- but Ziggy was the only one who had gone through with his plan. The Martians had built spacecraft that was suitable for living up to ten years in space, and so Ziggy hijacked one and lifted off without knowing what he was doing. He'd never piloted any kind of aircraft before. Fortunately, the thing had an autopilot feature, which he stuck it on until he could work out the controls. It didn't take long for him to puzzle everything out. He'd orbited above Mars for days until he knew for sure that everyone was dead. The ground turned red and barren, and Ziggy knew he had to leave.

Apparently the spacecraft had been built to last for more than ten years, as it went on and on and on in space, until Ziggy took his habitat for granted. On his first few weeks of space exploration, he had sailed right past Earth, knowing that it was inhabited but also realizing that the life forms on it weren't intelligent enough to speak with him. They hadn't formed a recognizable language to Ziggy yet. He had then gone to Venus, looking for those creatures he had seen a few years ago. But the high surface temperature had driven him away and nearly burned off one of the safety shields. Ziggy resigned himself to the fact that he would never see the Venusians again- well, maybe someday, if the humans were saved from their fate on Earth.

And so he had explored other galaxies, looking for life forms. He found very few civilizations like Mars. There were some inhabited planets, but the people there weren't very friendly. Others were like Earth- not advanced enough yet. Ziggy therefore spent a lot of time alone in his spacecraft, with nothing but his memories for entertainment. He blamed himself for the death of Mars much more strongly then than he did now. Thinking back on those lonely, solitary days spent in space made Ziggy's head hurt, so he quickly flash-forwarded in his mind to the time when he had come back to what humans called the Milky Way Galaxy.

As soon as Ziggy had gotten close enough to Earth, he began to hear voices. At first he thought he'd finally gone mad, but then he realized- these were the voices of Earth. Earth was sending out signals and messages, and Ziggy's spacecraft was intercepting them.

He'd put up invisibility shields around the spacecraft- he didn't want to be found just then- and for days and nights he had lain on the floor in the main room, letting the sounds wash over him. It was almost too much to take in, so much that for days Ziggy didn't even realize he could understand some of the words that the humans spoke. All he could think was, _I'm not alone anymore._

Since then, Ziggy had always planned to land on Earth, but he wasn't sure how the humans would take it. He was sad, now, about the circumstances that had finally led him here. Five years, besides being an ominous deadline, really meant nothing to Ziggy. He had lived too long for that. Five years was barely any amount of time. It certainly wasn't long enough to appreciate all fine points of human culture, which Ziggy was discovering to be more and more like Mars every day.

But five years was enough time to save the planet while single-handedly making people fall in love with him. Ziggy had lived without contact from any life form for a million years too many. He craved the love of these humans- not just the love of one would do. He wanted them all to appreciate him and recognize him as their lover, their friend, and that would only work if Ziggy promised them something that no one else could- namely salvation.

Ziggy sat up and set his guitar gently on the floor. Thinking about his plans for the future had made him too excited to sleep, but he supposed he had to try, anyway. He didn't want to show up in the recording studio for the first time with circles under his eyes and an unfocused mind. Not that skipping one night of sleep would really do that to him, however. Ziggy had been a semi-insomniac for long enough that it would take at least a week of not sleeping to finally show symptoms of deprivation.

"Goodnight," Ziggy whispered to his guitar, wishing he had someone beside him or at least in the room with him who would actually appreciate that sentiment. Ah, well, there would be plenty of time for finding love later. Ziggy turned out the light on his bedside and curled up beneath the covers, murmuring the lyrics to 'The Man Who Sold The World' under his breath until he finally fell into a light sleep.

Floyd arose early next morning and went to the main room to peer into the fridge. There was a half-eaten carton of eggs, a carton of soured milk, and not much else- just odds and ends such as jam and salsa. Floyd checked the freezer for more food supplies, and only found a frozen dinner. He picked up the egg carton and gave it a good once over with his eyes. There was nothing on it to give any indication as to whether these eggs were hard-boiled or raw. But the carton was open… Floyd picked up one egg and tossed it in the sink. It cracked open, and the yellow yolk oozed out. Floyd grimaced. He rattled around in the cabinets under the sink until he found a sizable pot. Then he filled it with water and put it on the stove, turning up the heat and waiting for it to boil.

By the time Ziggy woke up, Floyd was eating a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs. The carton of milk was sitting on the counter, its stench permeating the air. Ziggy murmured a "Good morning" to Floyd, and then promptly went for the milk. Before Floyd could blurt out "No," Ziggy was drinking it straight from the carton. He spat it out immediately into the sink. "Oh God!"

"Couldn't you smell it was bad?" Floyd asked dryly. He got up and plucked the milk out of Ziggy's hand.

"Not right away," Ziggy gagged. "Oh… God… Why didn't you tell me?"

"Not many people tend to drink it right out of the carton," Floyd pointed out. He opened a drawer, found a paper grocery bag, opened it up, and tossed the milk carton in the bag. "Is that a Martian thing?"

"No, it's a me thing," Ziggy said. He opened a cabinet above the counter curiously and took out a glass. Floyd went over to see if there was anything useful in the cabinet, and Ziggy filled the glass with water and hurriedly rinsed his mouth out.

The cabinets yielded little more food- a half-eaten bag of American chips, nothing more. Floyd took them out anyway and sat back down at the table. Ziggy spun around to face him. "What's for breakfast, Floyd?"

"Eggs," Floyd answered. He gestured to the package near the sink. "These ones are okay to eat out of the carton."

Ziggy giggled. "You think I don't know that?" He cracked an egg on the counter and peeled it over the sink, letting the shell fall down the disposal.

"Well, you never know, being from Mars and all," Floyd said. "Are there chickens on Mars?"

"No, not chickens," Ziggy said. "But there were eggs."

Floyd pointed to the milk in the trash. "What about cows?"

Ziggy smiled a small, knowing smile, his eyes sparkling with the mirth of an inside joke that only he understood. "Yes, there were cows on Mars." He looked so lovely that Floyd couldn't help smiling back.

"I'll make a run for food tonight," Ziggy said as he was getting ready to leave. He bent down to pick up his shoes and sighed. "I really should have bought something more practical…"

"That took you long enough to realize," Floyd sighed, staring at Ziggy's glittery platform shoes.

Ziggy laughed. "You have to admit, Floyd, that they're really quite attractive. Anyway, I'm going to try and get Billy to take me shopping again. We need more foodstuff around here. S'all right with you?"

"Yes," Floyd said. "That's all right." He tried to ignore Ziggy as he made ready to leave the building. But it wasn't really Ziggy he was trying to ignore, not exactly- it was more the feeling he got in the pit of his stomach when he realized that the man he loved was leaving him all alone, in an unfamiliar building.

Well, the unfamiliar building was bad enough… Never mind the part about loving him.

As if Ziggy could read Floyd's thoughts, his slim hand hovered over the doorknob. "Do- do you want to come with me, Floyd? It must be lonely all by yourself…"

Floyd shrugged. "It wasn't so bad yesterday." He thought of the humiliation he faced, traipsing about the city with no idea where he was going, looking for work. "I'll be fine by myself. Don't you worry about me." He hated being left alone. "Besides, I'm not sure if a recording studio is the safest place for me to be. I might get recognized." _But I'd risk it for you, _his mind sang softly. Floyd shoved the thought away.

"Well, all right then," Ziggy said. He opened the door. "See you."

"See you," Floyd repeated, and Ziggy left the building.

Shortly after, Ziggy entered into another building- the studio he had been signed on to the day before. While on his trip there, however, he caught sight of a familiar face at a newspaper stand- his own face. Ziggy stopped and stared at the headline. "MIRACULOUS SURVIVAL STORY OF BRITISH ROCK MUSICIAN ZIGGY STARDUST." Right underneath that was a photograph of Ziggy looking slightly battered, but holding warmth in his mismatched eyes. Ziggy stared for a few more moments, wondering if he should buy the newspaper, but figured that Billy would probably have it already. He continued on his way, and was surprised when he was stopped by a few people who had read about him in the newspaper and were curious to know more. Ziggy answered all of their questions to the best of his ability, enjoying the attention, and arrived at the studio with a puzzled but happy grin on his face. Finally, people were starting to respond to him!

To his delight, Billy was not in the main room, but his Spiders were on the couch together, seeming to be arguing again. When Weird caught sight of Ziggy, however, he nudged Henry and Gilly into alertness, and they all looked up and stared as Ziggy made his way over to the couch. They opened their mouths in unison and chorused, "Hi, Ziggy."

Ziggy smiled at them. "Hi, guys. Where's Parker- I mean, Billy?" He sat down in a chair beside the couch.

"Upstairs," Weird said. "I think he'll be down soon enough. Not like we need him, anyway." Henry and Gilly nodded in agreement.

"I'm quite excited to begin working with you," Ziggy said enthusiastically. "I've been up all night playing guitar. Have you got a chance to listen to my record yet, Weird?"

Weird shrugged. "I listened to it last night. That's some pretty wacky stuff you have going on there."

"Wacky?" Ziggy laughed. "That's a new one! I like it." His tone turned more serious. "But do you guys think you'll be able to play it?"

"Of course," Gilly said, and Henry assented. Weird said, "Maybe after a little more studying. It's not hard to play, especially for the keyboard and rhythm guitar parts, which is all I get to do anyway."

"All right," Ziggy said happily, and at that moment Billy came downstairs. He ignored the Spiders From Mars and went straight for Ziggy, crowing, "Good morning Ziggy! I wasn't expecting you so early. Have you seen the papers?" He produced a newspaper and held it out to Ziggy, who nodded. "I saw it this morning. Some people stopped me in the street to talk to me."

"Did they now?" Billy's eyes glowed. Already it seemed like the public was falling in love with his budding star. "Well that's good news for all of us!" He stepped back and rubbed his hands together. "Okay. So today is your first day of rehearsing. I'll be in the studio supervising your sound, but I'm leaving the music choices up to you and your band. Whatever songs you decide to play, just remember- you only have one week to practice before you're hitting the stage."

Ziggy nodded. "I won't be irresponsible about the deadline, I promise."

"Good!" Billy said. "Also, another journalist is coming here at around three-ish to conduct another interview. You'd better be ready for her then."

"All right," Ziggy said. He turned to his bandmates. "Come on, let's go start recording now!"

Upstairs, Ziggy went into the guitar room and picked up his baby from yesterday. The slender electric guitar was cherry-red and creamy white. It was beautiful, but something was missing. Ziggy deliberated over its look before finally realizing what the problem was. He smiled. _Sparkles. _Just a dash of glitter would touch up that shiny frame. Or maybe small mirrors, so that it gleamed like a mirrorball… Ziggy carried his guitar out into the studio, where Weird, Gilly, and Henry were setting up shop.

"Have you got an amplifier anywhere?" Ziggy asked, only realizing how stupid a question that was when the words had left his mouth. Weird nodded and gestured to it, sitting in the corner. Ziggy went over and plugged his guitar into the amp. He worked at the sound levels before cradling the guitar in his arms and playing a splendor of rippling notes that fell across the studio. The Spiders paused in what they were doing and watched as Ziggy played. He was only exercising his fingers by playing warm-up scales, but the tone quality of the guitar was so smooth and so handsome. Ziggy played the guitar with an unquestionable familiarity, as if he'd been playing for years instead of the three months that it was. Weird was shocked, though he tried to hide it. _He's been playing for how long? _His nerves rattled, it was all he could do to return the smile that Ziggy gave him when he was done playing. "Shall we begin now? What song do you want to do?"

"I've been practicing 'Changes,'" Gilly said. "Seeing as that's your biggest hit here in America, I think it's the best song to start with."

"I've been learning _all_ of your songs," Henry said smugly, as if to one-up the bassist. "And Weird hasn't been learning an-"

"Shut up," Weird muttered at Henry. "I'll be fine. I'm a fast learner."

"I should hope so," Ziggy said. He picked up his guitar again. "This song is heavy on the keyboards. Are you sure you're all ready for this, guys?"

"Always," Weird said, moving to the keyboard. He had heard 'Changes' several times before in the past, but had never tried playing it. Ah well, he supposed he would figure everything out once the song started.

"All right. 'Changes' it is then." Ziggy moved up to a microphone and tapped it to make sure it was on. It answered him with a loud noise. "All right… One, two, three, four!"

Weird struggled to keep up as he worked out the notes on the keyboards. Before Ziggy had even started singing, he sighed and stopped the song to stare at Weird. "Perhaps you've got to practice more."

"No," Weird said, adamant about his abilities. "I'll work it out, I swear."

"You'll work it out, you swear?" echoed a familiar voice. Ziggy turned and saw Billy walking into the studio from the other door.

"I heard what happened. The song fell apart before it even began." He walked up to Weird, who involuntarily cringed as if expecting Billy to hit him. Ziggy tried to catch the manager's eye, to remind him that he wasn't allowed to hurt the Spiders From Mars anymore. Fortunately, Billy only tapped the keyboards lightly, and then glared angrily at Weird. "You only have one week of this, remember? You need to get all the songs down pat! We can't have you shirking your duties like this."

"Fine," Weird muttered sorely. "I'll start practicing."

"There's twenty-four hours in each day on Earth, remember." Ziggy spoke up. "That means we have roughly one-hundred-and-sixty-eight hours to work on music. I'm sure we'll get it done in time."

Billy faced Ziggy. "What about the hours when we're at home, though? When we have to eat and sleep and whatnot? We're wasting time by not practicing the music!"

"And we're wasting time discussing it," Ziggy said smoothly. "What we need is less talk and more work. Why don't you sit out there and listen to us, Billy?"

Billy gazed at Ziggy for a few more moments, and then nodded and walked out of the room. Ziggy surveyed his Spiders. "All right, then. Weird, what Parker says is true. You've got to start practicing. Gilly and Henry and I will go over to the other corner of the room to work."

Weird grumbled. "Shouldn't you help me learn the song? I mean, you're the one who wrote it."

"I didn't write all of the instrumentals," Ziggy said. "Just the guitar, really, and a few ideas for the sound of the instruments. So I can't help you very much. You've got to figure it for yourself."

Weird said nothing, but nodded, and Ziggy moved the rest of the Spiders over to the other side of the room. "Now, what else have you been practicing?"

While Ziggy was doing what he loved to do, practicing music with the Spiders From Mars, Floyd was undertaking a far less pleasant task- the never-ending job search. He remembered talk in the city of a coffeehouse that had opened recently, and decided that maybe his search could begin there.

When Floyd got to the coffeehouse after putting his feet through agonizing pain, he saw something that lifted his spirits instantly- a HELP WANTED sign in the doorway. He walked right through the door and checked the place out. It smelled strongly of coffee, of course, and it was snug and cozy. There was a counter with a blackboard behind it listing all the dishes that were offered, and a few round tables in front, where several customers were sitting and sipping their brews. Floyd smiled unconsciously- he liked the homey feel of the place- and walked up to the counter. "Excuse me?"

The girl behind the counter turned around. "Yes?"

Floyd swallowed. "I'm here to look for a job. I noticed that you're hiring?"

Her face brightened. "As a matter of fact, we are! What's your name?"

"F- John Andrews," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice the way he had almost said _Floyd. _

The girl nodded. "I'll get our manager. We just opened a few days ago, did you know that?"

"And I just moved here yesterday," Floyd said, smiling.

Soon, after a talk with the manager, Floyd was agreed to be hired without any qualifications. He had begged and pleaded- "I haven't got any other way of making money"- until the boss decided to take him on. She was a warm, friendly person to match the coffeehouse's interior. "You start tomorrow," she said. "Six o'clock." Floyd thanked her and walked out of the coffeehouse into fresh air. He couldn't wait to tell Ziggy of his fortune.

Before Floyd had gotten halfway down the block, a familiar voice shouted "John!" Turning, he noticed a young man running towards him. It was Joss!

"Joss," Floyd called back as he caught up. "Hey!"

Joss was beaming. "Hey man! I didn't think I'd see you again after yesterday!" He laughed. "What's going on?"

"Nothing much," Floyd said, discretely peering into Joss's eyes. He didn't seem stoned out of his mind like he had been the day before. Still, there was something about his behavior that set Floyd on edge. "What have you been up to since yesterday?"

"Nothing really, same as you," Joss said. "I went and got drugs for Jimmy. Say-" He poked Floyd's arm. "Jimmy says that you're Pink Floyd. Is that true?"

_Jimmy? _Floyd responded with a hasty, "No. Who's Jimmy?"

"St. Jimmy," Joss clarified. "He's my friend. He brought me to this city." He looked up at the buildings overhead.

"Oh," Floyd said absently. "Are you going anywhere?"

"I just want to look for Whatsername," Joss said. "You know, that girl we saw yesterday. I don't think that's her name though… you must have been wrong. Do you know where she lives?"

Floyd could only sigh and shake his head. "I'm sorry, Joss. I haven't got any idea."

"Oh, well that's okay," Joss said. He grinned suddenly. "I'm going to find her. I know I will."

Floyd could say nothing more. He realized his feet were heading in the direction away from the apartment. Where was he going? What would he do when he got there?

Just like the day before, Joss stuck around by Floyd's side and rambled on about everything while Floyd tuned him out and tried to familiarize himself with the city. Suddenly Joss stopped dead and tugged on Floyd's arm. "Look! Do you see her? She's right over there!"

"What?" Floyd said, snapping back to reality. Joss pointed, and Floyd saw a young woman who looked awfully like the woman they had seen before in the fast food restaurant. But how could she be the same one?

"It's her, I know it's her!" Joss exclaimed, and before Floyd could restrain him he had taken off running down the pavement. Floyd sighed and took the opportunity to ditch Joss by turning the corner and walking away. He hoped the odd man would get around all right.

Jesus ran up to Whatsername eagerly, calling her nickname. "Whatsername! Hello!" The girl looked startled as he approached. Her pink lips parted. "Who are you?"

"Don't you remember me?" Jesus asked, stopping in front of Whatsername and panting. "We met yesterday. I'm the Jesus of Suburbia."

Whatsername laughed. "Oh, of course. How could I forget someone with such an unusual name like that?" She sized Jesus up, trying to figure out what kind of a person he was. He wore a black T-shirt and jean shorts, and his hair was black and spiky to match. His eyes were a dazzling shade of green. She blinked.

"You have an unusual name too," Jesus said. "Whatsername. Although I don't think that's actually your name." He laughed sheepishly.

"You're right about that," Whatsername said, smiling in mirth. "My name is-"

Before she could say it, though, Jesus blurted out, "Where do you live?"

Surprised, Whatsername said, "Right there." She pointed up to the building they were standing outside of. "I was just leaving now to go to work."

"Oh!" Jesus exclaimed. "Am I making you late?" Normally that kind of thing wouldn't bother him, but it seemed to mean a lot to Whatsername.

"I guess so, yeah," Whatsername said, glancing once again at the building she had just come out of. To tell the truth, she didn't really want to go to work. She wanted to spend a little more time with this strange but fascinating young man. "Don't worry. You can come with me if you want." She held out her hand and Jesus took it. They began walking together.

"Are you from the city?" Whatsername asked Jesus.

Jesus snorted. "No. I'm from the suburbs. _Fuck _the suburbs!" He tensed, and Whatsername could feel rage quivering in his body. Alarm ran through her. "Hey, calm down. What's so bad about the suburbs?"

"Nothing ever happens there," Jesus said. "And the motto's a fucking lie, man."

"The… motto?" Whatsername stated.

Jesus made quotation marks with his fingers. _"Home is where the heart is. _My heart's certainly not out there. My heart belongs here, in the city." He took a deep breath in. "I just hate all of those people in the suburbs, and those American idiots…" Another spasm of rage seemed o pass through him, and Whatsername tightened her grip on his hand.

"I know what you mean," she said. "Those stupid rednecks who love America just because they were born here?"

"Yeah," Jesus said. "Them. Hey, you know that the Earth's going to die in five years?"

Whatsername nodded her head.

Jesus snorted again. "There's all the graffiti on the bathroom stalls in the 7-11 where I used to hang out with my disciples. It all says shit like _The end is nigh! Save yourselves! _But man, I don't care about the apocalypse now. At least it puts an end to all of their miserable lives."

"You really feel that way?" Whatsername asked. She herself had been trying to ignore that there would be such thing as an apocalypse in five years, just as most of Suffragette City ignored it.

Jesus nodded. "I don't care about any of them. I just care about myself. And Jimmy. And Tunny and Will, but I don't know where they are now… And you."

"And me?" Whatsername repeated. Jesus smiled, a strange sight, and took her hands. "Yes. I can tell you're a rebel, just like me."

"I wouldn't go that far…" Whatsername began, but before she could go on Jesus had leaned in and begun to kiss her. She was surprised to find that she was kissing back. She had never been that risky- never made out with a complete stranger, on a sidewalk where everyone could see. And at that moment, Whatsername decided to fit the rebel title that Jesus had given her and take a chance. She wouldn't be coming into work that day.

By the end of the day, Ziggy had lectured and coached the Spiders From Mars into playing three of his songs- 'Starman,' 'Changes,' and 'Five Years.' He was extremely pleased with how well they'd picked up, although 'Changes' could use some work, and 'Five Years' wasn't completely down yet. In return for such hard work, Ziggy had enthralled the Spiders with a new song he was working on, 'The Man Who Sold The World.' All of them were impressed, but Weird most of all. He had a hard time believing that such a seasoned guitarist could have only started playing three months ago. When Weird asked Ziggy how he had learned so quickly, Ziggy shrugged and fiddled with the knobs on his guitar. "We Martians pick up quickly."

"Come on, man," Weird said. "Cut the Martian crap. Where'd you learn to play like that?"

"I taught myself," Ziggy said. "And it's not crap. I really am from Mars." He knew that none of the band members would believe him when he said this, but it was worth a shot. He'd rather tell everyone the unbelievable truth than lie to them like Floyd had to. No wonder Floyd was so serious all the time. Hiding his identity from the public was probably causing a huge amount of stress to be placed on him.

"No, seriously," Weird said. "Where are you from?"

"I'd tell you, but you wouldn't believe me," Ziggy said calmly, standing up.

Billy wasn't quite as pleased as Ziggy was with the band's progress- he could tell that Weird was really holding them back- and decided to give the guitarist/keyboardist a few harsh words once Ziggy had left. Still, he had to say that learning three songs in a day was definitely an improvement. "You did a good job today," Billy praised Ziggy just before they left for the night. "Is there anything I can do for you? Take you out to eat or something?"

"No, I'm fine," Ziggy said. "Well… actually I would like it if you could give me some money."

Billy stiffened. "Money? What for?"

"You know what for," Ziggy sighed. "I need to buy food myself- I can't just go out to eat with you every night. Besides, my roommate needs to eat as well."

"Your roommate?" Billy said. "You didn't tell me you came to Suffragette City with anyone.""

"Oh, I did," Ziggy said. "He's a bit of a recluse though. As soon as he's gotten in the apartment, I doubt he'll come out of there. That's why I need to buy food for him. And he hasn't got any money either."

"What's his name?" Billy asked.

"John Andrews," replied Ziggy. "The guard outside the apartment complex saw him when we came in last night."

Billy nodded and pursed his lips. "Tell me… this roommate of yours… are you sure he's… just a roommate?"

Ziggy saw what Billy was driving at and laughed. "I should hope so! He's got a wife at home." Billy should have been comforted, but he couldn't help but think that Ziggy hadn't specifically said "I'm not gay."

"Well, I'll give you the money," Billy said. "How much do you need?"

"A lot," Ziggy said simply. "I also want to go back to the clothing store and buy a pair of comfortable shoes. These platform boots are hell for my feet, you know!" He laughed, and Billy mechanically joined in.

"Sure," he said. "Here's sixty."

"Sixty?" Ziggy gasped as he took it. "That's quite a lot…"

"Not that much for people like me." Billy smiled slyly. "Have a good night."

"Goodbye!" Ziggy pocketed the money and took to the streets.

He found a supermarket presently, and went shopping for all his favorite foods. Then he hit the clothing store and found a nice pair of colorful sneakers that came in his size. As soon as he had left the store, Ziggy pulled the elastic away from the pair and slipped his feet into them. _Ah, much better. _He was about to take off when he noticed in the bargain bin at the front of the store, there were odds and ends that people didn't want anymore. Ziggy went through it, and came up with a surprise- a leather-bound notebook. He used the last of Billy's money to pay for it, and then walked home on un-protesting feet, though the lack of socks began to rub into his heels and ankles.

Floyd was glad to see Ziggy home. They unloaded the grocery bags and Floyd told Ziggy of his success at finding a job. Ziggy's reaction was warm- "Good, now we won't starve to death!" Floyd smiled as he gazed at his handsome friend. He let Ziggy take over dinner, and as he sat at the table waiting for the meal to be ready, Ziggy chattered on and on about his day. Sometimes hearing about music made Floyd cringe or grimace in mental pain, but now he could have listened to Ziggy talk forever. Everything about him was perfect… that voice, that face, that hair…

Speaking of hair, "I think I'm going to re-dye my hair tonight," Ziggy said as he set his dinner on the table. Floyd blinked at the dish in front of him- cheese on toast. "It's getting blonder all the time, have you noticed?"

"So I have," Floyd said. "How come you don't have to re-paint that lightning bolt, though?" He pointed to Ziggy's left eye. Ziggy smiled. "It's a permanent tattoo. Although at one time it was just paint."

After dinner, Floyd lounged on the couch while Ziggy sat at the kitchen table, playing his guitar for Floyd. When he was done, he said, "That's the music for 'The Man Who Sold The World.'"

"Odd," Floyd said. "I thought that one was going to be a ballad."

"Well, it almost was," Ziggy said. "But then I came up with that great riff." He picked up the guitar. "I'm going to go do my hair now, and then I think I'll go to bed. It's been a long day." He yawned as if to prove his point.

"All right," Floyd said. "See you in the morning."

Ziggy smiled as he went into his room, the smile that always melted Floyd's heart. "See you."

After Floyd's forbidden love was gone, Floyd sighed heavily and curled up on the couch. He wished fervently that he hadn't taken the phone lines out of his house in Bath. It had been far too painful to think of the telephone after what had happened in America, and with the wounds still raw in his soul, Floyd had gone into "one of his turns" and disconnected the entire cord while Audrey was asleep one night. When she woke up, he said he didn't know what had come over him, but this way there could be no more communication mistakes. Audrey had been as supportive as possible during that time period, that period of relearning how to be a human again.

Floyd sighed again and hugged himself. He missed Audrey deeply, and could hardly wait for her letter of response. After a while, he got up and went over to the kitchen table to turn out the light. That was when he noticed a small, leather-bound notebook sitting on the kitchen table. Floyd picked it up, guessing that it was Ziggy's, and entered into his room to give it back to him.

As soon as Floyd had opened the door, though, he was shocked to the core. Ziggy was lying in bed with freshly dyed hair- and without any clothes on. As soon as he saw Floyd, he sat up and pulled his guitar over his body, protecting Floyd's eyes from his nudity. "Oh, hi, Floyd! I was just about to go to bed. What do you want?"

"You… left this… on the table…" Floyd said, trying to peel his eyes away from Ziggy's guitar. Ziggy nodded. "I bought that today. Set it on the pillow." But Floyd made no move to move.

"Do you… always sleep like that?" he asked.

Ziggy nodded. "This time it actually is a Martian thing. I never understood why humans wear clothing to bed. Honestly, you're just going to put on clean clothes in the morning, so what's the point?"

"I don't know," Floyd said unconsciously. He still didn't move. Ziggy laughed at him.

"What, are you shell-shocked from the sight of my body? In awe over how beautiful I am?"

Floyd couldn't tell Ziggy that that's exactly what he felt at the moment. Instead he said, "No, you just gave me a fright, that's all." He broke out of his frozen stance and moved to place the notebook on the pillow.

Ziggy found this very amusing. "I bet you're shocked at the size of my-"

"Shut up," Floyd snapped at him. "I barely saw anything." What he had seen would fuel his fantasies for days to come, he was sure of it. His deep, dark, forbidden, dirty fantasies, that was. "Besides," he couldn't resist saying, "mine's probably bigger."

_What had possessed him to say that?!_

Ziggy now burst out laughing, practically rolling on the bed. "Oh, that's a good one! That's a very good one!"

"Seriously," Floyd couldn't stop himself from saying, "yours can't be that big. You're so small."

Ziggy readjusted the guitar. "I might look small, but that doesn't mean all of my body is. How about we make a bet?"

"A bet?" Floyd repeated blankly.

"Sure. I bet you five dollars that my dick is bigger than yours."

Floyd wanted to put his head in his hands. He couldn't believe what he'd gotten himself into. _Oh well, at least I'll be satisfied satisfied satisfied _his mind said. Floyd yelled at his brain to shut up, to stop thinking of what would happen if Ziggy moved the guitar away and opened his legs. He had never felt attracted to another man's body before. So why was this happening _now?_

_If it's him it's okay it's okay it's okay_

_SHUT UP! _Floyd yelled at his brain. Ziggy was peering curiously at him, a smug grin on his face.

"I bet you haven't even got five dollars," he said.

Floyd wanted to scream at that. "I won't have to pay you though," he said. "Come on, let's get this over with."

"You come on," Ziggy said. "I'm already naked."

As if Floyd needed any reminding. He mumbled something unintelligible and turned around, unzipping his jeans. He was honestly a bit nervous about this. The only two people who had ever seen him entirely naked were Audrey and his mother, not including the groupies. Never any men, and vice versa- Floyd had never seen any men naked until Ziggy. He truly wasn't sure what to expect, what to think. And what would Ziggy think?

His hand trembled a little as he undressed the rest of the way, leaving his shirt on. There was no point in taking that off as well. Floyd turned around to find that Ziggy was already standing. They stared at each other.

"You win," Floyd finally said. Ziggy grinned. "I knew it." He hopped back onto the bed and curled up beneath the covers as Floyd turned around again and got dressed. Visions of Ziggy naked danced through his head. He wondered if Ziggy was watching him get dressed now. Was he feasting his eyes just as hungrily as Floyd would be doing to him?

As Floyd was leaving, Ziggy called out his name. Floyd turned, half-expecting him to call him back and into bed. But all Ziggy said was, "I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable with that bet."

"No, it's fine," Floyd said, chuckling. "Goodnight, Ziggy." _Goodnight, my love._

"Goodnight, Floyd."

The next day, as soon as Floyd got home from his new job, he flung the door open to find Ziggy's ice blue eyes staring back at him.

"Ziggy! I didn't know you'd be back so early," Floyd said, trying to go through the door. But Ziggy blocked his way with his skinny arms. He was peering hungrily at Floyd.

"Em, can I get through, please?" Floyd asked. Ziggy murmured "Sure" in a low voice, and peeled himself away from the doorframe. Floyd was confused as he shut the door behind him. "What's up, Zig? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," Ziggy said in an oddly possessed tone. He sat down at Floyd's feet when Floyd settled on the couch, his body rocking forward on his heels. "I want to ask you something."

"Well, go ahead then," Floyd said.

Ziggy leaned even closer in. "I haven't been with anyone for so long. Will you… will you take me now?"

Floyd jolted back, thinking of all his private fantasies. Just yesterday he'd been longing to do this to Ziggy. But now…

"Ziggy, I can't," he hurriedly blurted as Ziggy slinked his hands and arms up Floyd's legs. "I… I'm married, you know…"

"There's no such thing as marriage on Mars," Ziggy reminded him. He placed his hands on Floyd's hips. "Please…"

Floyd tried to say something more, but Ziggy cut him off with a warm kiss. Floyd felt his body unlock and loosen in response to Ziggy's touch. He kissed back, placing his hands on the sides of Ziggy's face. Ziggy moved his hands from Floyd's hips to his chest, lifting his shirt over his head. They tumbled against each other on the couch, and Floyd started to undress Ziggy as Ziggy worked on him, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down around his legs. Floyd broke away from the kiss for a moment and moved his mouth downward, rolling his tongue along the smooth, flat planes of Ziggy's bare chest. Ziggy pressed his lips to Floyd's neck and nibbled at his soft skin, playfully, teasingly. Floyd felt his lower body go hard as hot blood pooled. Ziggy flattened himself against Floyd, and Floyd could feel that Ziggy was aroused as well.

"I can make it go away," Ziggy whispered. "I can make you feel better than you ever have before." He slithered down Floyd's body and enclosed his warm cock with his mouth. Floyd shuddered at the moist touch, and then moaned. He could feel Ziggy's tongue going to work on him, probing areas that once had been forbidden. As Ziggy swallowed more of Floyd, Floyd lost himself and thrust against Ziggy's throat, moaning louder now- "_God damn you, Zig-"_

Floyd woke up with the words still in his mouth. He had sat up, and his cries of pleasure had turned into a sort of strangled shriek. For a moment Floyd thought he must have had a nightmare, and that was why his heart was pounding so much, but he was quickly brought back to reality by the feeling of flames lapping the space between his legs. It had been a dream, sure, but dreams couldn't cure Floyd's excitement, only bring it on. Floyd sunk back in bed and surrendered with a groan, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of his pants.

Ziggy had been dozing lightly in his room when he was wakened by a faint sound- someone moaning was what it sounded like. The sound came again, and as Ziggy's mind grew clearer he realized what it was and where it was coming from.

"Jeez, he's even louder than me," Ziggy muttered, scratching his newly-orange hair. He sank back down under the covers with a small, wicked smile on his face. His verbal statement was replaced with a mental one of _He must really miss Audrey. _Little did Ziggy know as he fell back into his light sleep was that the person on Floyd's mind was the furthest removed from Audrey he could think of.

Floyd wasn't the only one getting some in the city that night.

Jesus and Whatsername had spent their entire day together, and Whatsername was soon completely smitten. She allowed Jesus to lead her off to all sorts of places, without really thinking that it should be the other way around, as he had only been in the city for a few days and she'd lived there all her life. She told Jesus her real name, and he told her his. "But don't call me that," he said. "I hate being called that. Only my mom calls me that." Now and again a twinge of worry would come to Whatsername's heart- she had never done anything like this before, skipping her job to hang out with a guy she'd only met that morning- but every time she gently tried to say that maybe she should be getting home now, Jesus would squeeze her hand and look seriously into her eyes. "Don't leave me," he said. "You're a rebel, aren't you?" And she'd surrender with a kiss.

As day turned into night, Jesus began racking his brains on how to get Whatsername to stay the night with him. Obviously he couldn't take her back to his place- St. Jimmy would be there, and Jimmy didn't seem to like Whatsername at all. Jesus would have to find a way to get invited to Whatsername's apartment. But did she trust him enough for that?

There was only one way that Jesus could see. As Whatsername began to show signs of anxiety, glancing up at the darkening sky, Jesus pointed across the street to a disco, flashing multicolored lights. "Hey. You wanna go to that club over there?"

Whatsername gave it a brief glance. "I don't know…" she said slowly. "It's getting a bit late."

"Come on. The night's hardly begun!" Jesus laughed. "It's good to go to clubs when it's late. You can't go to one in the daytime, can you?"

"Well…" Whatsername could feel her resolve weakening, and then disappearing when Jesus looked at her with those soft green eyes.

"Let's go in," he said, and she had no choice but to follow.

They were soon dancing like crazy, grinding to the pounding beat of the music. Each body was pressed close together, and sweat dripped off of Jesus and Whatsername as the flashing lights glowed. The clubbers seemed to be dancing until the end of the world- dancing to save themselves and their sanity. Whatsername finally broke away from the throng and stood on the sidelines, gasping for air. Jesus joined her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remainder of Jimmy's drugs. Screw Jimmy- he could get his own stuff if he needed it that badly. Whatsername looked curiously at the syringe.

"What's that for?" she asked, knowing in her heart what it was for but not wanting to believe it.

Jesus grinned under the lights. "It's for fun." He held the needle up. "I have two shots left. One for you, and one for me."

Whatsername's body grew cold and hard, like steel, as she realized what Jesus was proposing. She shook her head at him- "I can't. I- I've never done this before…"

"It doesn't hurt," Jesus said in his most sincere voice. "Just a little pinprick. Then it feels amazing, like nothing you've ever felt before."

Whatsername looked at the needle and back at Jesus. He urged the needle towards her a bit more.

"…Okay," she said finally, and they shot up together.

After leaving the club, Jesus and Whatsername went back to her apartment. Jesus didn't really see much of it, because they left the lights off. The couple only cared about each other, not their surroundings. They undressed and Jesus pushed Whatsername down against the bed, ready for her to take his virginity and he hers. They fell asleep together when the act was done, Jesus with his arms around Whatsername and Whatsername whispering softly close to his ear.

_She's a rebel_

_And she's holding on my heart like a hand grenade_


	22. A Grand Transformation

Chapter Twenty-One: _A Grand Transformation_

Over the next few days, things began to move very quickly in the studio in preparation for Ziggy's first concert, to be held on Monday night, the start of the new week. Weird grudgingly went home and listened to Ziggy's album several times. He began to get a feel for the music, and quickly learned the rhythm guitar and keyboard parts (at least he had the easiest parts to play). But the one thing that continued to astound Weird was how amazing Ziggy's guitar playing was. Not many of the songs gave him a chance to truly show off his skill, but even the simplest stuff was surprising for someone who claimed to have only started playing guitar a few months ago. Weird saw no trace of lies in Ziggy's eyes when he claimed this, but suspicion remained. No one could be that good with that little amount of practice. Weird had been playing guitar for years and was unable to reproduce some of the things Ziggy did in the studio.

On their last day in the studio together, Ziggy and the Spiders From Mars recorded their first real song together, 'The Man Who Sold The World.' For the first time, the Spiders got a taste of the writing and recording process as Ziggy listened to their imput and told them what he liked and what he didn't. It was much different from the way the band was used to it, with fussy pop stars telling them exactly what to play. The Spiders enjoyed this artistic freedom.

One problem that had not gotten any better, despite Ziggy pleading with the manager, was Billy's mistreatment of the Spiders From Mars and all other session musicians. The second day in the studio together, Ziggy had found Weird with an unsightly bruise on his face. He'd claimed that Billy had punished him for not being able to play the songs correctly. Ziggy, concerned, went in to have a talk with his manager, where he told Billy very sternly that if he didn't stop harassing the Spiders, he would walk out on this recording contract. Both of them knew that would never happen, though. Billy didn't stop harming his employees, and Ziggy didn't stop making music, fearing that if he quit now he would never get a better deal elsewhere. He pretended to ignore it when Gilly, Henry, or Weird showed up for practices looking fairly battered.

After a while, though, Billy was too excited about new music and the resulting incoming profits to think of hurting the Spiders anymore. He watched eagerly as Ziggy and the Spiders From Mars recorded 'The Man Who Sold The World' in one take, exactly the way that Ziggy liked it. The band had grown quite tight, with an unspoken acknowledgement of Ziggy as their leader and the Spiders as dependent on him. When they were done, Billy asked if he could use 'The Man Who Sold The World' as their first single. Ziggy agreed to it, and arranged to have a photoshoot sometime for the single's cover. He then went back to the studio and proudly surveyed the faces of his bandmates.

"Tomorrow's gonna be our first show together," he said. "I'm proud of the work you've all done this week."

"Thank you," Gilly said, smiling. "It's been great working with you too."

"Yeah," agreed Henry, and Weird nodded.

"Now… I've started writing a song that I think would be good to perform live," Ziggy said. "We haven't got many songs that aren't on my album, and therefore, not nearly enough to fill an entire set. There's 'The Man Who Sold The World,' of course, and 'Memory of a Free Festival'-" Ziggy had recorded that song easily, with just his voice and a synth and cut-up clips of random sounds that he'd enjoyed and the Spiders singing along at the end. The result was lovely. "And 'Space Oddity'-" though that one was a rough mix and not quite the final version that Ziggy wanted, and the band hadn't practiced it enough- "but I thought we'd better do one or two more, and so I started writing some lyrics." Ziggy produced his leather-bound notebook and showed the Spiders From Mars what he had written.

"Another song?" Weird said. "We have to learn another one?"

"If you want to, of course," Ziggy said, shrugging as the Spiders crowded around to read his lyrics. "I wrote it specifically for playing live. It doesn't have to go on an album. And there's a part where you can sing, too."

"Where?" Henry asked, glancing down at the lyrics.

"You can't make us into singers again, Ziggy," Gilly said with a laugh. "'Memory of a Free Festival' was bad enough."

"I thought you sounded lovely on that track," Ziggy said. "I haven't written the part for you to sing yet. I'm leaving that up to you."

"Wow," Henry said, loving the idea of actually singing words he'd written, while Weird said, "What's this song called?"

"It hasn't got a title yet," Ziggy said. "But I can sing it for you." He went over and picked up his guitar, which was still plugged into the amplifier. Ziggy began to play a wild riff that instantly caught the band's attention. This song was a harder rocking song than he usually wrote. Ziggy sang the lyrics: "Well, she's a tongue-twisting storm, she will come to the show tonight! Praying to the light machine. She wants my honey, not my money; she's a funky-thigh-collector! Layin' on electric dreams."

His breath enveloped the words as he sang more quietly. "So come on, come on… we've really got a good thing going. Come on, come on… if you think you're gonna make it, you better hang on to yourself." The guitar played biting notes that soared across the room. Ziggy stopped playing and looked at the Spiders From Mars. "What do you think?"

"I like that one!" Henry said, and Gilly nodded- "Me too."

"Sounds… dirty," Weird said, a strange smile lighting up his face. His eyebrows arched up.

Ziggy laughed. "It is a bit dirty, I guess. So, now that you've heard it, do you want to write more?"

Just then Billy came into the room. "It's getting late," he said, making straight for Ziggy. "Isn't it time for you to go home?"

"I was just showing the Spiders a song," Ziggy said. Billy didn't even glance at them. "Well, I'm about to close up shop for the night. You have you first concert tomorrow, remember?"

"Of course I remember," Ziggy said. He looked to the Spiders From Mars. "Guys? Do you want to save this for tomorrow?"

Weird shook his head. "No time. Don't worry, Ziggy, we can write the rest by ourselves." The notes on the guitar still danced in his head.

Ziggy nodded. "All right, thank you. See you tomorrow." He walked down the stairs, followed by Billy.

"Make sure you get some good sleep tonight!" Billy called as Ziggy walked out the front door.

"I will!" Ziggy said before he was attacked by fans who had been waiting outside the studio all day.

After several interviews had been published about Ziggy in Suffragette City's newspaper, the public's interest was piqued. _The Rise of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars _had begun to sell more in stores, and 'Changes' was played heavily on mainstream radio. The people of Suffragette City weren't responding to Ziggy's message of hope- they were responding to his looks, the way he spoke, his wild and crazy stories about life on Mars. He was like nothing America- or really the rest of the world- had ever seen.

Ziggy got through the mob in time to call a taxi. He smiled at the fans from outside the window. _So inviting, so enticing to play the part! _His mind sang. _I could make a grand transformation as a rock and roll star. _Ziggy knew that despite what Billy had said, he wouldn't be getting a wink of sleep tonight.

Floyd was at home completely exhausted by the time Ziggy came back. He was reading a very precious letter- a letter from Audrey, which had just come that day.

_Dearest Floyd,_

_I can't believe you're alive. This is far too good to be true. Ever since the plane went down in the Atlantic, I've assumed you were missing forever. I was in mourning when I received your letter. Thank God you and Ziggy survived. I was going mad without knowing anything._

_Your trip sounds like quite the time. It's hard to believe, really. I'm glad that Ziggy is getting back into show business again. But now that his entourage is dead, you have no reason to be in America anymore. You've got to come back to me. I'd fly out there, but I know how much you hate America. Come at the first chance you get._

_Eva took the news of your "death" very hard. I've never seen her behave in such a way. I didn't tell her you were dead, only that you weren't coming home. She reminded me of you a little bit, the way you used to be so closed up and uncommunicative. But now that we know you're alive, she's been talking about you every day. "Is Daddy coming home yet?" she keeps wanting to know. What should I tell her? Are you coming home?_

_I love you with all my heart and soul, Floyd. Please write back with details._

_Your loving wife,_

_Audrey Pinkerton_

Pain ripped through Floyd as he read Audrey's pleas for him to come home. He knew now that there apparently was no way of getting home. Suffragette City had hoarded up a lot of energy, but not enough to fly a plane over the ocean. Floyd was stuck on a continent he hated, away from his wife and daughter, with only a man who resembled temptation at its very core for company. What Floyd wouldn't have given to go back home- but then that would mean leaving Ziggy behind, and he couldn't do that. He set the letter down and sighed loudly.

Ziggy came in at that moment and heard the sigh. He shut the door behind him. "What's going on, Floyd?"

"There you are," Floyd said. "It's nothing. I just got a letter from Audrey, and she wants me to come home."

"Ooh." Ziggy sucked in a breath as he went to put the kettle on and make tea. "Why doesn't she fly out here?"

"I'd rather be at home," Floyd said. "But there's no way to get off this wretched continent. I miss her."

"I understand," Ziggy said, filling the kettle with water. "Just try not to miss her too much, or you'll stain your bedsheets."

Floyd frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard you a few nights ago," Ziggy said nonchalantly. "Come on now, it's nothing to be ashamed of… although I would be embarrassed if I sounded as loud as you. You were even worse than I am, and I tend to scream a lot."

Floyd felt his face- and other parts of his body- grow warm with Ziggy's words. He didn't dare say anything other than an embarrassed grunt. If only Ziggy knew it hadn't been Audrey he was thinking of. Not at all. And that fact shamed him even more than the knowledge that Ziggy had heard him did.

He wasn't even sure why he had dreamed of oral sex- immoral sex, as Floyd called it in his mind, associating it with groupies that attacked him after shows when he had been Pink. There was no forgetting it now, though- Floyd was undeniably incredibly attracted to Ziggy's body as well as his soul and mind, and this scared him to death.

"Well, no more of that," Ziggy said, sensing that he had made Floyd feel uncomfortable. "Tea?"

"Sure," Floyd said, and stood up, carrying Audrey's letter with him to discreetly hide the effect that Ziggy's words had had on him. He sat down at the table, and Ziggy handed him a teacup and proposed a toast.

"To my concert tomorrow," he said, and they both drank to it. "You're coming to see me, aren't you, Floyd?"

Floyd drank and then said, "I don't think I can make it, Zig."

"Why not?" Ziggy asked, his eyes showing a brief flash of hurt before he hid it.

Floyd felt bad for backing down, but "I have to work later tomorrow night. And besides, someone might recognize me at your concert."

"You go out in the city every day and no one's recognized you yet," Ziggy pointed out. Floyd said nothing. There had been two people… Joss, who was in the end too high to really pursue his suspicions, and Floyd's boss.

"You look a lot like a singer from the 70's," she had told Floyd on his lunch break. "His name was Pink- Pink Floyd, but most fans just called him Pink. You have to have heard of him before."

Floyd smiled. "I get that all the time. It's even worse, being from Britain- they think I'm Pink Floyd come out of retirement." They laughed together, and then Floyd said, "I never really listened to his music. Was he popular over here? People sure seemed to go gaga over him in Britain."

"Oh, he was even bigger here than in England," Floyd's boss said. "I never really cared for his music either, though. Far too negative for me. Do you know the story of why he went into retirement?"

"He went mad, didn't he?" Floyd asked, and his boss nodded. "Apparently he had a nervous breakdown onstage and had to be committed to an asylum. Or so they say. There's been no news whatsoever of him ever since those six years ago. He's become a sort of living legend in the music business- no one even knows if he's alive or dead." She paused. "It's funny, because you really do look like him." Floyd had just kept smiling, forcing himself to hide the pain that welled up inside when he thought of what he'd done to all those innocent concertgoers.

Coming out of his vision, Floyd shook his head at Ziggy. "There's going to be more people in the music business, and they'd know me from the first sight. Besides-" he breathed. "I have to work."

"All right," Ziggy said, covering up his disappointment. He sipped from his teacup. "You were really that popular around here?"

"Even bigger here than England," Floyd said.

Ziggy smiled. "Y'know, sometimes I think I'm more English than you are, Floyd."

Floyd laughed and turned away. He felt terrible about not being able to go to Ziggy's concert. But even if he had the time, he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it- the fear of getting recognized, of course, and the lust that filled him when Ziggy was near. Being around all those crazy girls- for Ziggy was quite popular with the female fanbase- might make Floyd do and think things he shouldn't be doing or thinking.

Ziggy was right about not getting any sleep that night. He wrote absently in his notebook and watched the minutes tick by on the clock. When it got to be six AM, Ziggy couldn't wait any longer. He dressed and went out into the street, which was already loaded with cars.

Ziggy was the first one at the studio, which he unlocked with his own key that Billy had given him. He worked on his guitar up in the studio until footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Ziggy!" Billy cried in surprise. "What are you doing here already?"

"I couldn't sleep," Ziggy said. "I'm too excited."

Billy moved around him and went into his office. "Well, that's a shame- your concert doesn't start until nine o'clock tonight."

Ziggy sighed. "You don't have to tell me that."

After working for a little more, more footsteps sounded on the stairs. Weird, Gilly, and Henry came up, all of them arguing with each other as usual. "Would it kill you," Weird was saying to Henry as they walked in, "to just keep in time for one minute? One minute can make an entire song. You don't need to be switching the time signature every few seconds!"

"I wasn't," Henry mumbled angrily. "You were confusing me with the guitar."

"Oh, so you're blaming this all on me, then?" Weird spat, and then gave Ziggy and wave. "Hello, Ziggy! We weren't expecting to see you this early." Henry opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Weird elbowed him in the ribs and muttered, "Shut up, Henry."

"Hello, my Spiders," Ziggy said, giggling. "I'm far too excited to go back home, of course."

"Well that's too bad, the concert is at nine o'-" Henry began, but Ziggy sighed. "I know…"

"At least now that you're here, we can present our new song to you," Gilly said, and Ziggy was confused for a moment- "What new-"- before he remembered the night before. He'd asked them to write their own verse for a song he'd been working on.

"We've given it a title as well," Weird said, rushing to the keyboards. "'Hang On To Yourself.' How do you like that?"

"I like it just fine," Ziggy said, sitting down on his guitar amp. "How does it go?"

The Spiders From Mars assembled around their instruments and Weird counted them in. They all sang the verse they'd written together, and Ziggy was pleased. He grinned when he heard the line "You're the blessed, we're the Spiders From Mars." This was exactly the kind of thing he'd hoped the Spiders would write.

"What do you think?" Weird asked when the song was done.

Ziggy beamed. "I think we might be able to fit this into the concert! Let's all try practicing it together." And so they did, and Ziggy was glad to take his mind off his anxiety for the show to begin, if only for a little while.

As nine o'clock loomed closer and closer, Ziggy found it harder and harder to distract himself. The Spiders From Mars went to eat dinner, but Ziggy was too excited to eat. He stayed up in the studio, absently playing his guitar to bide the time away. He was so absorbed in this that he jumped when Billy walked into the room and cleared his throat.

"Goodness, Billy!" Ziggy exclaimed, setting his guitar down on his lap. "You sure gave me a fright coming in like that."

"I'm sorry," Billy said, not sounding apologetic. "Ziggy, I want to know something…"

"Yes?"

"Are you going to wear that at the show tonight?" Bily asked, pointing to Ziggy's clothes.

Ziggy looked down at himself. He'd picked out a sparkly sequined jacket over a plain white shirt and shiny satin pants to wear today. He'd thought that made the lack of color would be striking- it would bring out the red in his hair, for one, and it would also bounce off the stage lights. Ziggy wanted to be bright, almost blinding, onstage, like a god of some sort. But now he felt Billy's judgmental stare on him, and he began to worry that made this wasn't the sort of outfit that rock stars wore in America.

"I was planning on it," Ziggy said. "Have you got a problem with that?"

"Well…" Billy shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "Is that the kind of thing you used to wear in London?"

"Oh yes, on my big tour. Not when I was playing clubs though- I didn't have enough money to look this good!" Ziggy laughed, but inside he was suspicious. "What's wrong with it?"

Billy sighed. "Nothing really…" _At least it's not a dress or something. _"Just… people might get the wrong idea from you."

"What sort of wrong idea?" Ziggy asked, looking Billy squarely in the eye.

"Oh, you know… they might think you look camp," Billy said.

"Camp?" Ziggy had clearly never heard of the word before.

"It's…" Billy fumbled and faltered, trying to find words to explain. "Well, never mind that… What I mean to say is, they might think you're…" His eyes roamed up and down Ziggy's body. "Well… dressed like that…"

"Gay?" Ziggy asked.

"Not quite _gay," _Billy hurriedly tried to say, but Ziggy knew what he meant. He burst out laughing. "Is homosexuality really such a big 'problem?'" he asked, framing the word with quotation marks made by his fingers. "Ahahahaha… You humans are so odd!"

"Um…" Billy said. "It's not _really _a 'problem,' as you say, but certainly you don't want people thinking-"

"Let them think what they want to think," Ziggy said relaxedly, still shaking his head. "Why should I care what people think of me? Besides, they'd be bang on- well, not quite, but they'd have gotten half of my sexuality correct, and what's left for the other half but the other way?"

Billy was a bit taken aback- not by Ziggy's revelation, as he'd already had a sinking feeling that Ziggy was bisexual- but by the off-handed way that Ziggy spoke. Sometimes he swore that Ziggy really was from Mars. Why didn't he seem to care what audiences thought of him? Billy knew that if word got around about Ziggy's sexuality, the fans that he had worked so had to create might turn away from Ziggy's music. And Ziggy didn't seem to be bothered by this one bit. Maybe he didn't know the problems that could come of this.

"Ziggy," Billy said. "I'm not sure if it's a good idea for you to be so open about your sexuality."

"Whyever not?" Ziggy asked. "I thought you said it wasn't really a problem."

"Not… exactly," Billy sighed, "but not everyone in America, and certainly not everyone in Suffragette City, is really behind the idea of singers and other pop icons who are not… heterosexual." He hadn't used that term in a long time. "It's like how we used to discriminate against African Americans. There's still some controversy surrounding sexuality, and-"

"Controversy?" Ziggy stated. "How could there be controversy? If I liked a certain person's music, it wouldn't bother me in the least bit to find out they were gay, or bi, or any other thing that came into conflicts with whatever I am. Unless it affects the music directly in a way that I don't like- and I can't see how it would- there's no problem whatsoever, in my opinion. And therefore, there should be no controversy."

"Sadly, not everyone thinks like that." Billy pointed out. Ziggy shrugged and tossed his head. "I don't care how everyone thinks. I know how I think, and I obey my thoughts. I do what I like to do, and if others don't like it, they shouldn't be coming to shows." And with that, Ziggy walked off, his guitar still clutched in his hands. Billy stared after him, confused and sighing. If Ziggy wanted to be torn apart by the critics, that was his mistake. Billy had done all he could do now.

After a quick dinner, Ziggy and the Spiders From Mars were driven down to the theater in which they were to play. There, Ziggy sat backstage and trembled with excitement as he listened to the noise of the audience. From the sound of it, there were just so many of them-! The Spiders were dressed in their traditional black attire, with white boots and belts. They were fussed over by stylists who wanted to adjust their hair and apply makeup so they would be seen more easily. Ziggy was approached by a few stylists too, but he turned them down, saying that he had already done his own hair and makeup. He'd painted his face and neck with body glitter, applied lilac eye shadow to his eyelids, and dabbed cherry-red lip gloss onto his lips. Looking in the mirror, he gave himself a reassuring smile.

The show was to open with 'Space Oddity.' Ziggy had planned it so that the Spiders From Mars entered onstage first, practically hidden by their black clothing, and they would begin the song. Ziggy would sing and play along backstage, driving the audience wild with speculation on his location. Then when the first verse ended, Ziggy would come onstage to the delight of the crowd, and the spotlight would hit him in his shiny white glory.

After a brief huddle between band members- "I hope you all do well tonight!"- the Spiders crept onstage and began the song. Ziggy listened and felt chills run up and down his body as the fans started cheering, realizing that the concert was about to start. He closed his eyes and felt himself swaying. So this was it, then…

Ziggy was given a microphone, and he sang and played his guitar from backstage. Then the pre-taped music swirled through the theater- there were some parts in Ziggy's songs which were hard to replicate live, and a few crucial sounds had been taped to be played over the live concert- and Ziggy stood up, carrying his guitar, and made his way onstage, just as the spotlight hit him and nearly blinded him. He was aware of nothing but himself, the guitar he played, and the microphone he stood in front of as the spotlight scrutinized him under his gaze. And then a huge roar of screams wafted up from the audience- they had recognized him as their leader.

"_This is Ground Control to Major Tom_

"_You've really made the grade!_

"_And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear._

"_Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare._

"_This is Major Tom to Ground Control,_

"_I'm stepping through the door!_

"_And I'm floating in a most peculiar way._

"_And the stars look very different today."_

Ziggy remembered his time in outer space, floating about all on his lonesome, which had inspired the lyrics in this song. Unlike the character of Major Tom, he had never been outside the spaceship when it was floating in space. He had been too scared. But he could clearly imagine what it would be like.

"_For here am I sitting in a tin can_

"_Far above the world._

_Planet Earth is blue, and there's nothing I can do."_

Weird was accompanying Ziggy on backup vocals, singing the higher notes, which were a cinch for Ziggy to hit, but he didn't want to strain his voice early on. As Ziggy played his favorite guitar line in the song, he dared to look out at the crowd, or at what crowd he could see, and give a smile. They screamed back in admiration. And Ziggy suddenly knew that right then, right there, the stage was his home, forever.

The applause that 'Space Oddity' got when it was done was deafening. Ziggy slung his guitar over his back- he wouldn't be needing it for the next song- and called out into the microphone. "This is Ziggy Stardust and my band, the Spiders From Mars, and we hope you're having a very great night!" More cheers. Ziggy shouted, "This is 'Changes'- I think you know it!" And the band broke into his biggest hit in America, and the voices of the fans nearly overpowered Ziggy as he sang.

As the show wore on, Ziggy began to loosen up a bit onstage. He found that he could see the front row, and was a bit surprised to discover that everyone n the front row was female. He began flirting with them, dancing from one side of the stage to the next, teased them and made them scream. After a round of rocking songs, it was time to slow it down a bit for one that was closer to Ziggy's heart. But first, the band needed a proper introduction.

"I just realized, I've forgotten to introduce you all to my band!" Ziggy said after the song 'Moonage Daydream' was finished. The fans responded appropriately. Ziggy pointed into the blackness at the man standing behind a keyboard on stage right. "This is Weird- he's not that odd of a person, though. Weird on keyboards and rhythm guitar!" Weird bowed fancily with a smile on his face.

"This man over here on stage left," Ziggy said, pointing to him, "is Gilly, the best bass player I could ask for!" Gilly waved and smiled. "And that man right behind me, on drums… well, that man is none other than Henry, a great fan of mine, and someone who'll always have my back!" Henry enthusiastically raised his drumsticks and tapped out a small rhythm. The audience loved it.

"And I'm Stardust, but I think you already knew that!" Ziggy laughed. The audience proved they did as a few girls yelled "ZIGGY!" Weird began to play softly on his keyboards, a gentle note that provided ambience and splendor. Ziggy fingered the microphone softly. "Maybe I should announce it, should I?" he said, in what had become his customary method of introducing the song- he'd even stated those words on the record. "'Memory of a Free Festival.'" He waited a while for the cheers and general noise of the crowd to die down before beginning it. The fans' response to the song was not quite like the response Ziggy had imagined it would be. They sat in their seats blankly and kind of stared while Ziggy was singing his heart out. When the ending came around, though, the audience began to clap along, but it took them a while to start singing with him. Ziggy wondered if the song was too European- or too Martian- for the taste of American audiences.

The only other moment in the show that fell a bit flat was during the song 'Five Years.' Ziggy could tell that the audience was trying really hard to be appreciative- the song was peppered with random claps and cheers- but overall, the performance didn't come across very well, especially when Ziggy began choking up as he sang "FIVE YEARS" at the end, as usual. He could feel the fans' eyes on him, boring holes into his head. _Maybe they just don't want to think of the future, _Ziggy thought when the song ended. _Well, they'd better face facts, like it or not._

The last song of the night was 'A Day In The Life' by Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, which had quickly become Ziggy's favorite song. The audience roared loudly at that, leading Ziggy to believe this song must have been popular in the States. Once the thunderous piano chord fell down across the theater, Ziggy silently slipped offstage, calling "Thank you!" without a mic on him. The Spiders From Mars followed suit, and the house lights came back up just as they were leaving the stage.

Backstage in a dressing room, Ziggy sat in a chair and panted heavily. He'd done it. He'd sold himself to America, and they loved him. A knock came at the door, and Ziggy opened it. It was Billy, smiling proudly and holding a bottle of champagne. Behind him were Gilly, Weird, Henry, and a bunch of people with tape recorders and notepads. Ziggy invited them all in, and the room grew very crowded.

"Congratulations," Billy said to Ziggy, patting him on the shoulder and opening the champagne bottle. Ziggy smiled- "Thanks"- and took a sip from the bottle before handing it back to Billy. The Spiders From Mars crowded around Ziggy.

"That was a great show!" Gilly said first, and Ziggy nodded, grinning. "You guys were fantastic! Thank you so much." He embraced his band, who for once were at ease with each other and not arguing. Then Billy coughed from Ziggy's side. "Ziggy, I brought some reporters along with me…"

Ziggy would have protested against the interviews- he wanted to wait a while and come down off the high, and he also didn't want to break his voice- but he supposed it was all for the best. The papers would be all over Ziggy Stardust the next day. Ziggy motioned the reporters forward and was soon lost in a daze of answering questions, the world fading into a blur. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he spoke, and his smile would not leave his face.

Finally the stream of reporters began to trickle off, and Ziggy sat back in his char, relaxed. That was when a group of women appeared at the doorway and called his name- "Ziggy…" There were three women in all, and each of them carried a purse and wore very skimpy clothing. There were two blonds and a black-haired girl. Ziggy stood up and walked past the Spiders From Mars and Billy, who were sitting around enjoying champagne. "Hello, who are you?" he greeted the girls.

"We just saw the show," one of the blondes said. "It was great. We're wondering if you'd be needing any company tonight." As if on cue, the black-haired girl started giggling.

Ziggy was about to open his mouth and say _no thank you, _when the identity of these girls hit him. Floyd's words sounded in his ears- _Everywhere you look, there's women dying to have sex with you. _He had said America was full of them. These women must be the start of that.

"I'm not sure," Ziggy said, leaning against the doorframe. That set the other blonde and the black-haired girl off giggling again, but the other woman stood and met Ziggy's level gaze. Ziggy debated on whether or not he would like someone to spend the night with him. It had been so long since he'd felt the loving touch of a woman or a man… and besides, these women reminded him of the Martian practices of free love. It was just the kind of thing that made Ziggy willing and accepting.

"All right," he said. "I'll take one of you. You can't all come to my apartment- I've got a roommate." He wondered if Floyd would be at home yet, and if he would approve of Ziggy's actions. But what did it matter? The thought of lying in bed next to a woman was too tempting to resist. "I choose you," Ziggy said, gesturing to the first blonde who had spoken. She smiled slyly. "You won't regret it."

"Hey, do we get girls too?" Henry brayed from inside, which was followed by a smack and a "Shut up, Henry" from Weird. The remaining women peeped inside. "Sure," the other blonde said, and they danced past Ziggy into the dressing room.

Billy smiled at Ziggy. "Have a good night." He winked. Ziggy waved goodbye to him and then was taken by the arm as his blonde date dragged him out of the theater and into the night air of Suffragette City.

They got back to the apartment by taxi- there were quite a few fans of Ziggy stalking the streets who might attack him in search of an autograph. Throughout the ride, whenever Ziggy tried to ask the blonde woman about her life, or anything personal, she shook her head and brushed his lips with her fingers. "I want to hear about you," she purred, and so Ziggy ended up talking about his life and his music career and what living on Mars had been like. The woman listened intently, as if memorizing every small detail about him. Soon the taxi stopped, and Ziggy led the woman into the apartment complex. They rode the elevator up to the penthouse, and it was then that the blonde started kissing Ziggy, pressing him against the metal wall and smearing her body all over his. Ziggy was startled for a second, and then felt his fears melt away as he kissed her back, cupping her face in his hands.

For a few moments Ziggy was worried that Floyd had gotten back, but when he unlocked the apartment door the room was dark and showed no signs of life. Ziggy didn't bother turning the light on. He led the girl by the hand into his bedroom, where she tossed her purse into the corner and stood before Ziggy as he sank down on the bed, the concert high finally starting to ebb a bit.

"What would you like me to do?" the girl asked. "I can do anything you want me to- well, there's a few kinks I don't exactly go for, but you don't seem the type." She sized him up and down.

"I didn't know there were different kinds of sex," Ziggy said, confused.

She laughed. "What are you talking about?"

"Well… there's sex. There's intercourse. There's also anal sex. What else can you do to me?" Ziggy was a bit intrigued at what this woman might have to offer.

The girl was dumbfounded. "You mean you've never heard of anything besides copulation and buttfucking before? You really are from Mars!"

"That's true," Ziggy said. "That's the way we did it on Mars." He reached out and took her hand. "Do something to me that I've never had done to me before. Make it so that I can't think, let alone speak, afterwards. I want my mind to be blown."

The blonde smiled. "Well then, I'd better blow ya." Without warning, she pushed Ziggy over so that he fell down among the pillows on his bed. She climbed on top of him and tugged at the bottom of his satin pants. They slid down his legs, and Ziggy propped himself up with his elbows to ask "What are you doing?" The girl pushed him back down. "Just lie down… You'll like it, I promise."

"Okay…" Ziggy said, lying down, nearly trembling with excitement. Suddenly he felt a wetness between his legs- something moist and warm was moving over him- the girl's tongue? And then- "Oh." She had swallowed him. _"Oh."_

She moved her head, taking him further down her throat. Her tongue began probing places that Ziggy had never dreamed a tongue could probe. He moaned in pleasure, and as her mouth moved more intensely, began shrieking words- "STOP IT! Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!" Of course, he didn't really mean what he said- the feeling was so incredible that he couldn't think of how this could get any better. "Oh… oh… YES! _Yes, yes, YES!" _His hands clenched into the bedsheets, and he pounded his fists against the mattress. She kept going.

Ziggy soon lost complete control of himself, and began moving his body in sync with her mouth, thrusting into her as if having normal sex. At the moment when he thought he would explode from this torturous passion, it came all at once, a huge wave emanating outwards from where her mouth was, rippling across his body like a coin thrown into a pool of still water. Ziggy screamed wordlessly at the top of his voice as he was sucked under by the current of undying pleasure. It washed over him for what felt like an eternity. For a brief moment Ziggy was slightly concerned with how the girl should take his juice, which of course would end up in her mouth, but cocking his head slightly, he could see her gulp it down with a small, dirty smile on her face. For a reason Ziggy didn't know, he found that to be the sexiest thing he had ever seen anyone do. The current then released him to fall gently against the bedsheets, panting as if he'd been exerting himself. A warm feeling of happiness welled up inside of Ziggy, and he lay there in bliss for a few moments before realizing that the girl was gone. No, not gone… she was across the room, retrieving her pocketbook from where she'd thrown it earlier. Ziggy sat up and pulled his shirt and jacket off, watching as she returned to his bed.

"Thank you," Ziggy said when the woman returned- it was a standard phrase for Martians to say to their partners after sex. Although this was like no sex Ziggy had ever had before. The girl grunted- "God, you were loud though"- and reached into her pocketbook to pull out a plastic bag full of a strange white powder. Ziggy touched the bag gingerly, with trembling fingers. "What's that?"

"Coke," the woman said. "I bet you've never tried this stuff either."

"No," Ziggy said. "I've never heard of it. It looks like powdered sugar…"

She gave a sarcastic sort of laugh. "And it's just about as sweet."

Ziggy watched as the woman bent over and snorted up the powder that she had tipped into her palm. He was curious, as always. "Can I try that?"

She instructed him on how to take the drug, and in a few moments Ziggy was lying down on his bed, his mind whizzing and buzzing as the cocaine entered his bloodstream. The blonde stripped in front of him and lay down next to him. It was time for the main event.

Floyd came home from the coffeehouse late at night, his mind envigorated by the cups of coffee that he had drunk while on the job. That night had been busy, as many of the fans going to Ziggy's concert had decided to stop by the place before they headed to the theater. Floyd had heard many a chat about what was to be expected that night, and tried not to say a word to any of the customers. No one at the coffeehouse knew that Floyd and Ziggy shared an apartment together. If they did, Floyd felt sure that they would clamor for questions about the enigmatic singer, and he didn't feel much like discussing his roommate when he was at work. In fact, Floyd liked going to the coffeehouse because it allowed him to forget about Ziggy and the strange love that he attached to him.

When the streets began to crowd once more with excited concertgoers- an hour after they had gone off to the show- Floyd figured it was time to quit for the night. His boss praised him on his long, hard day of work, and asked if he was sure he didn't want to keep helping out and feeding the fans. Floyd declined from the offer. He didn't show it, but he was very tired after spending the whole day at work. Besides, he wanted to hear about the show straight from the mouth of the one who had performed it.

Back at the penthouse, Floyd swung the door open onto darkness. _Hmmm. _He'd expected the lights to be on and Ziggy to be sitting on the couch, bursting full of excitement and ready to tell Floyd how the concert had gone. Maybe Ziggy was still at the theater, or maybe he'd gone to bed already. There was only one way to find out. Floyd fumbled his way across the room to Ziggy's bedroom door and slowly cracked it open, peering inside.

The sight he found filled him with shock. Ziggy was indeed asleep already, his bare back to Floyd, lying on his side in the bed. But next to him lay an equally bare young woman, also asleep, Ziggy's arms around her. Floyd stared for a moment, not to drink in the sight, but simply because he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Then he closed the door gently (as Ziggy was a light sleeper), anger stirring up inside him.

It was only the first concert, and already Ziggy had fallen into the groupies' trap! There could be no other explanation for what Floyd had just seen. A voice sounded in his head- _Why didn't I warn him warn him warn him?! _There was no excuse for this. If Floyd had told Ziggy to stay clear of the groupies, he wouldn't start traveling down the inevitable path of destruction.

_Well, at least he's not into drugs yet, _Floyd tried to calm himself. But his hands still shook with unreleased fury. Ziggy had already developed a nicotine addiction- no thanks to Floyd, who had showed him how to smoke a cigarette- and now he was consorting with groupies, too. The way things were going, it wouldn't be long before Ziggy discovered drugs and got into them as well.

Floyd told himself he was overreacting. He wouldn't let Ziggy fall into the drug trap. He'd have a long conversation with him in the morning and tell him not to have any more trysts with those evil women. As long as Floyd was watchful, Ziggy wouldn't end up the way he had.

Utterly exhausted, Floyd retired to his bedroom. He had half a mind to wake Ziggy and that damn girl right now and get rid of her, then explain everything to Ziggy. But common sense prevailed- Floyd wanted to be awake and alert when talking to Ziggy, and he didn't want to offend the woman. Floyd snorted as he curled up beneath the covers in bed. Yes, let Ziggy enjoy his one night of freedom. There wouldn't be any more of those in the future.

He ignored the voice in the back of his head that told him he was being petty and jealous, that he only wanted Ziggy to keep away from the groupies because he wanted Ziggy all to himself. That may have been true, but all Floyd could think at the moment was _He can't end up like I did. He can't end up like I did. He can't end up like I did. I love him too much for that._


	23. Some Days He Feels Like Dying

Chapter Twenty-Two: _Some Days He Feels Like Dying_

When morning broke, Ziggy was surprised to find out how long he'd slept. A digital clock on his bedside read 9:30 AM. Usually he was up and ready by 6:30 in the least, making breakfast and practicing guitar and waiting for Floyd to wake up. Ziggy briefly wondered as to the cause of this change, and then remembered it all. He had performed a concert last night. Odd, but it felt a million years in the past now.

Ziggy sat up, and suddenly the rest of the night flooded vividly back to him. He'd had his first taste of human sex with an amazing woman he'd never seen before last night. And then… the rest was a blur. She'd given him some white powder… called it "coke." They'd lain down together to have proper sex. And Ziggy's mind ran blank- the first time such a thing had happened.

He wondered simultaneously what had been in that coke stuff and, oddly enough, where the girl was now. The second question became more pressing, and Ziggy started to get out of bed to look for signs of her. Just then the bathroom door opened, and out walked the blonde woman with whom Ziggy had spent the night, all dressed and washed up. She didn't seem surprised that Ziggy was awake. "Sorry, Ziggy, I have to go," she said, making her way to the bed to kiss his cheek. "It was a great night. Thank you."

"No, don't go yet," Ziggy begged. "I want… I want to talk to you." Why was he finding it so hard to spit the words out of his mouth? It was almost as if he'd forgotten how to speak- but of course he hadn't, no one could forget that. Unless his strange memory lapse from last night had something to do with that.

The woman paused, standing a safe distance away from Ziggy. "Well, make it quick. I have somewhere to be. What do you want to say?"

"...What was that stuff?" Ziggy blurted at last. "The… coke. What in the world was that?"

She looked slightly uncomfortable. "Oh, just something to make you feel good. Lord knows I take it all the time. Did you like it?"

"Like it? Why…" Fragments of last night's activities began to crowd Ziggy's mind, and he found he could remember everything again, though in a strangely blurred way. He gasped suddenly. "Why yes. I loved it!" As soon as he'd spoken, he knew it was true. That coke stuff was powerful. It had taken control of Ziggy's mind and lifted him into the highest heights of pure pleasure. He had never experienced anything like that before- nothing that had made him so completely, utterly, and perfectly _happy._

The girl nodded. "I thought you would. There's more where that came from-"

"Where?!" Ziggy cut in immediately. He couldn't believe it, but he wanted more of the stuff. It surprised him that he would want it so much after only trying it once- much like cigarettes.

"I'll give you a number," the woman said. She reached into her pocketbook and pulled out a pad of sticky notes and a pen. While she wrote, more memories rushed back into Ziggy's head. He envisioned the love that he had made last night, and the unfamiliar sex that was even sweeter, and sighed to himself. There was another question to ask…

Done writing, the blonde handed the sticky note over to Ziggy, who took it eagerly. He blurted out before she could get away, "Last night… last night was truly amazing. I can't stress that enough."

"Thank you," she said, shaking her head a little. Ziggy could tell that she was still shocked that he hadn't had a… what was the word… blowjob before.

"Are… are you going to be around every night?" Ziggy asked. "I mean, I don't even know your name…"

"It's Bee-Bee Ellwood," the woman said, and Ziggy had the feeling that wasn't her real name. "Are you suggesting I stick around with you on tour- like, like a groupie or something?" She seemed nervously excited. "I just went last night with my friends. I go around whenever anyone is playing at that theater and offer myself to the musicians. All three of us do. I'm not like a prostitute or anything… I just like having sex with them. Call it a fetish, if you will, but I really can't get enough of those musicians."

Ziggy didn't quite understand what she was saying, but he replied, "I don't think you can stay with me… There isn't going to be a tour. I'll be in that same theater every night."

"If you want I could hang around backstage," Bee-Bee said. "Like I said, I could be a groupie."

"Groupie" was an unfamiliar word to Ziggy. "I'm not sure… If I stay with one person too long it could end up being like bondage…"

"Bondage?" Bee-Bee laughed. "I thought you said you didn't know about those kind of kinks?"

Ziggy realized that "bondage" had a much different meaning on Earth than it did on Mars. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant, it might feel like you're my wife." He hoped that was the right word.

She laughed again. "Don't you mean girlfriend?"

"Yes…" Ziggy mumbled. He wanted to hit himself on the head. Why was his brain being so stupid this morning? "Well… Bee-Bee, all I'm saying is, I don't want to commit to one person right now. It's been so long since I've had anyone."

"I see," Bee-Bee said. "You need to get out more. Speaking of getting out…" She checked the digital clock. "I really need to go."

"All right," Ziggy said. "Goodbye." Once Bee-Bee was gone, he got out of bed, stretched, and fumbled around the room for a cigarette. Maybe that would clear his mind.

After last night, Ziggy knew that he wouldn't settle for abstinence again. He'd been continent for years, only because there was no one to share his lust with. Now the gates had been unlocked after spending the night with Bee-Bee. Ziggy remembered how great sex used to be, and here on Earth it was even better. And now that he knew there would always be women and men available backstage or in the audience who were willing to indulge him, why would Ziggy not go along with it? He couldn't wait for the night and who he might find this time.

And the introduction of this substance called coke sure was interesting. Ziggy had no idea what could be in the stuff that made him feel so good, but one thing was for sure- he wouldn't have been able to have the fabulous night that he had had if it hadn't been for the coke. Whatever it was. Medicine or vice much like alcohol (the only recreational substance that Mars had had), nothing mattered but one thing- Ziggy had been entirely happy last night for the first time in a long time.

He puffed on his cigarette and ruminated on the intense _high _feeling he had experienced. The sticky note in his hand jumped out at him. Yes, Ziggy would have to call this number and see what sort of thing the person on the other end could provide for him. He needed more of this coke, and soon.

While waiting for Ziggy to awaken to that Floyd could have it out with him, he read about the very man in the newspaper.

A Q AND A WITH ZIGGY STARDUST

_Ziggy Stardust is the new British singing sensation who has taken Suffragette City- and other parts of the world- by storm. Preaching messages of hope and love through his music, Stardust has grown to be massively popular in America with the song 'Changes,' which has hit number one on the Top Forty charts. Stardust's first concert in America took place last night, and after the show this reporter sat down to interview him. While onstage the man was flamboyant and charismatic, offstage he is calm and soft-spoken, smiling happily all the while as if he can't believe his luck._

_Q. How do you think the concert went tonight?_

_A. Oh, it was absolutely wonderful. I love doing concerts. It felt like my tour in Britain, actually, which was so rudely interrupted._

_Q. So you toured in Britain before making your way over to America?_

_A. Yes, I did. I was discovered in Britain._

_Q. Are American audiences any different from British ones?_

_A. They seem to be, a little. For example, some songs, like 'Five Years' and 'Memory of a Free Festival,' fell flat tonight, while the British audiences loved them._

_Q. What do you think it was about those songs? Did they not translate well in a live setting?_

_A. No, I think 'Memory of a Free Festival' was too European for Americans to understand, and 'Five Years' was too depressing._

_Q. You were the sole survivor of a plane crash which occurred over the Atlantic on the same day that New York City disappeared. How did you make it to shore?_

_A. Sheer determination is all. That, and the fact that Martians are stronger than humans, endurance-wise._

_Q. Where did you used to live in Britain?_

_A. London._

_Q. There's a lot of mystery built up around you- you're made out to be a sort of enigmatic person because we don't know all the details about you. We don't know where you were born and how you got your start in music, and we don't know why it's taken so long for you to become famous. Is this enigma intentional on your part?_

_A. No, not at all- in fact I've told you all about those things, but you refuse to believe it._

_Q. You claim to be from Mars. Why is that? _

_A. It's because I actually am from Mars. Alternatively I suppose you could say it's a good gimmick to get myself a wider audience, but the claim that I am from Mars is no claim- it's fact._

_Q. Did you come from Mars specifically to become a rock star?_

_A. Indirectly, perhaps, but that certainly wasn't my original goal. I came to Earth because I wanted to save it. I knew it was going to die in five years, and so I took it upon myself to stop the apocalypse. I decided that music was the best way of spreading my message to the public._

_Q. How did you know Earth was going to die before we did?_

_A. There are certain signs that I recognized from outer space. Mars bore the same symptons. The planet died out a few million years ago, and I was the sole survivor._

_Q. Why do you think people are responding so well to your music?_

_A. They need some sort of solace in this desperate time, and I'm offering a chance for release and escape through song. I honestly would love to see my goal reached and to have every human being off of the Earth in five years' time. Basically I try to use my music to tell everyone not to lose their heads, we're going to make it. And besides, no one else wants to sing and perform these days. They find it too trivial a thing to do, when we should be spending time with our families. But I've got no family and I've got a message to spread. So I'm quite pleased that people are reacting, though I'm also not surprised in the least._

_Q. I see. Well, thanks for taking to the time to talk to us._

_A. It's been a pleasure._

Floyd finished reading the article just as the bedroom door opened and Ziggy walked out in a pair of silver pants and a short-sleeved shirt with orange, yellow, and red stripes on it. "Floyd!" He hurried over to the breakfast table. "Last night was amazing, Floyd! You should have been there!"

"I know," Floyd said, setting the paper down on the table. "I was just reading about it."

"Oh, you were?" Ziggy picked up the newspaper and gasped when he saw his face on the front page. "Goodness! Those journalists are quick- I didn't think this would be up already!"

"You're Suffragette City's only claim to fame," Floyd said. "Ziggy, when you say your night was amazing…"

"Yes?" Ziggy mumbled, his face buried in the newspaper.

"Are you including your time with the groupie I found in your bed along with that?" Despite himself, Floyd couldn't help but let a menacing note slip into his voice.

Ziggy looked up from the newspaper. There it was again, that word _groupie. _"What's a groupie?"

Floyd exhaled. "Don't tell me you don't know. It's a very evil form of a woman. Women who follow rock and roll stars around and try to get them to have sex with them are groupies. The woman you had in your bed last night was a groupie. And-"

"Wait- why were you looking in my bed?" Ziggy asked suspiciously.

"I wanted to see if you'd come home yet," Floyd said. "That's not the point! The point is that groupies are dangerous and evil and you need to stay away from them, Ziggy."

"But the woman I had last night wasn't dangerous or evil," Ziggy said. "She introduced me to a new form of sex. It was amazing. And she…"

He trailed off, noticing how Floyd's eyes were glaring at him. For an inexplicable reason, Ziggy felt that Floyd would harshly disapprove of the coke stuff that Bee-Bee had given him. It was better not to mention it. But he didn't understand why Floyd seemed so opposed to the groupies themselves. Had he had a bad experience with them when he was a rock star?

Then Floyd's voice from a week ago came back to him- _We cheated on each other- _and the pieces fell into place.

Ziggy stared piercingly straight into Floyd's eyes. "You had a bad experience with groupies, didn't you? You cheated on Audrey with them." At the reminder of his past, Floyd's skin broke out in goosebumps. His breath caught in his throat. Ziggy continued, "You only think they're evil because they tempted you as a married man. Well, I'm not married and never will be, so I deserve to have them."

Floyd was shaking, caught in the grips of his memory. He managed to rise from it a bit to say to Ziggy, "You don't get it. The groupies will affect you in the worst way. Once you fall into the 'sex, drugs, and rock and roll' stereotype, there's no coming out of it. Well, there was for me, but it took so many years. Ziggy-" He breathed. "Ziggy, I just don't want you to destroy yourself."

"Oh come on! It's only sex, Floyd. How can having sex with people hurt anything?"

"They'll distract you," Floyd said, willing his words to get through to Ziggy. "Soon it won't be the music you care about- it'll be which girl you're going to bang after the show."

Ziggy's face settled into a cold mask of anger. "I think you're underestimating me. I'm not going to become a sex-crazed lunatic. And I don't just bang girls."

"Please try to understand, Ziggy, that I don't believe this is good for you," Floyd pleaded. "It's not about who you have sex with, or how you do it, or really about sex at all. It's about-"

"It's about you and your damn past," Ziggy snapped. "You're trying to live through me to atone for all the mistakes you made as a rock star. You think if I do things the right way, the way you didn't, you're going to be redeemed through me. Just like I'm your fucking son." Floyd flinched. He had never heard Ziggy swear before. "What happened in the past, stays in the past, Floyd. I am not you. I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to live with your guilt. I know I have." He pushed past Floyd and went to the refrigerator, pulling out a brand-new milk carton and taking a sip from it.

"Well, I don't regret my warning to you," Floyd said, watching as Ziggy pointedly turned his back. "I'd advise you to heed it. I'd also advise you to pour a glass of that like a normal person, instead of drinking it from the carton."

Ziggy suddenly slammed the milk carton down on the table. "Well, I'm _NOT _a normal person, Floyd!" he shrieked, spinning around. "I'm an alien! I've lived for a million years. I've got white blood and pointed ears, and I haven't got any eyebrows. I couldn't be normal if I tried!" He turned back to the milk and screwed the cap back on with shaking hands, shoving it into the fridge. Floyd opened his mouth to say something, but Ziggy stalked away from him. "I'm not hungry," he muttered. "When I get back tonight, I don't want to see you here. Understand?"

"Yes," Floyd murmured, and watched as the man he loved left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

The Jesus of Suburbia had finally found a home for himself in the city. He considered the possibility that maybe home was where the heart lay. Because his heart lay with Whatsername in her apartment. Jesus had never loved anyone before, and it was an entirely new experience. The morning after he had had sex with her for the first time, he'd felt as if his entire life had turned around. No one controlled him anymore, and he had found love. Things should have been perfect.

Whatsername was the most charming girlfriend Jesus could have hoped to have. During the day she had to work, but when not at work she was always by Jesus's side, making the most out of her time with him. Jesus found more and more things to love about her- her brown eyes, the slight smattering of freckles across her cheeks, her graceful way of walking, the curve of her lips when she smiled. When spending time together, Jesus and Whatsername usually shot drugs, went partying at clubs, or had sex. Theirs was a doomed existence, but neither of them realized it quite yet.

_She's an extraordinary girl, _Jesus thought dazedly. _Extraordinary girl._

There were secret chinks in their relationship, though. Whatsername had been pulled down the path of drugs and destruction far too easily, and in her sober moments, was able to see that this guy who called himself the Jesus of Suburbia didn't quite have all of his marbles. Sometimes when she was in another room in the apartment, she would hear him having conversations with himself. He always sounded violently angry. When she intruded upon these moments, Jesus would look confused and talk about someone named Jimmy. "Who's Jimmy?" Whatsername finally asked one night, after the room had stopped spinning.

Jesus refused to talk at first, but it was eventually pried out of him. St. Jimmy, Jesus said, was the man who had led him to the city and who had introduced him to drugs. Apparently now Jimmy wanted Jesus to come back underground with him, to leave Whatsername and live on the streets. "He's just angry because I haven't been able to get any drugs for him," Jesus said. "He wants me to share my stash, but I won't let him because it's for you."

"And he comes here often?" Whatsername whispered, surprised. How could someone enter the apartment without her knowing?

"All the time," Jesus said. "But don't worry about it, love. Jimmy's just a big fucking bastard. I'll make sure he doesn't harm you."

The next day, Whatsername pressed her ear to the bedroom door and listened as Jesus talked to himself. Her heart sank. He was addressing someone named Jimmy. She yanked the door open and Jesus was the only one there. He was shocked and ran to her. "St. Jimmy was threatening me…"

Some days Jesus felt like dying. He was rarely ever lucid enough to fully realize what he was doing, but he'd started to get the idea that maybe this new life wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He regretted ever meeting Jimmy. Why did he torture him and harass him and cajole him into leaving Whatsername? Jesus was torn between his disciple and the woman he loved. And the St. Jimmy was getting more than a bit impatient with him, and more than a bit pissed off. Jesus wasn't sure how much longer he could take it, or how much longer it would be before Jimmy lost all his patience and dragged Jesus out of there, kicking and clawing and screaming.

One morning Jesus rolled out of bed, entirely naked and needing his next shot of heroin. He reached dizzily under his bed, the familiar pain starting to steal over him, just a nuisance in the background for now, but if he didn't shoot up soon it would flood over him and consume his every cell. Jesus straightened up with the syringe and drugs in his hand, and had just plunged the needle into his vein when a voice called out his name. "Jesus of Surbubia, how _do _you do?"

Jesus whipped his head up and blinked in confusion. A second later, his confusion transitioned swiftly into anger, causing his fists to tighten up and his stomach to form a large knot. "Jimmy!"

St. Jimmy stood in front of the large window of Whatsername's apartment, a leather jacket revealing his smooth, bare chest, raising a rolled joint to his lips. His glittering green eyes revealed ever-present contempt, and his dark eyebrows were angled down. The smooth, pouty lips parted as Jimmy took a step forward, and his voice came simpering out, "Well, Jesus, have you decided to come back to me yet?"

"Oh, go fuck off, Jimmy!" Jesus growled, removing the needle from his arm. Damn! Did Jimmy always have to come in and ruin a perfectly good shootup?

St. Jimmy rolled his eyes and let out a smileless snicker at Jesus's fumbling with his syringe. "Come now, Jesus. You're going to have to come back eventually. This bird of yours is going to be disappointed in you pretty fast."

"You leave her out of this!" Jesus shouted. "She's mine and you can't have her!"

Jimmy snorted. "As if I would want her in the first place!" He suddenly came forward and laid his hands on Jesus's bare shoulders, digging his fingernails deep into Jesus's skin. "I gave you drugs," he hissed. "I gave you money for all the smack you can get. I gave you a place to live when you were on your own. And you repay me by running off and staying with some spineless chick? Corrupting her with your touch?"

Jesus was about to respond harshly to St. Jimmy's words, but Jimmy silenced him by giving him a hard shake. He then pushed Jesus over and climbed on top of him, his face inches away from Jesus, close enough for a kiss. Jesus yelled and struggled, trying to get St. Jimmy off of him, but Jimmy was too strong. Their bare chests were pressed together, and Jimmy let out another snort, flinging his joint into the air. "My God, you're small." He snorted again and shoved Jesus further down amongst the bedsheets- and that was when the door was wrenched open, banging against the wall. Jesus sat up in a flash- wait, where had Jimmy gone to?- and stared as Whatsername walked through the door, her eyes wide and her hair dripping wet from the shower. "Jesus?"

Jesus fumbled for his voice, got to his feet, and rushed over to his girlfriend. "St. Jimmy was threatening me…"

As for Whatsername, she was getting sick of crying, all alone at her workplace or on the streets. She wasn't as far gone as Jesus was, and knew of all her mistakes. How had she allowed this lunatic into her life? Just because he loved her- just because she loved him- that didn't mean that she was allowed to give up her entire life for him. Her life had been boring beforehand, working in an office- but now it felt utterly pointless and futile, and she knew the reason why. The drugs that Jesus had introduced her to were ruining her life. But every time Whatsername tried to stop taking them, Jesus would pressure her into it. She had no way of resisting her charisma. And because of this, her work was going down the drain. If she got fired from her job, she would have hit rock bottom. But she knew Jesus would see it as a sign of rebellion. How could she tell him that it was all his doing, his putting her on a pedestal?

The last straw with Jesus was this mythical St. Jimmy that he kept going on about. Whatsername could tell from every shred of evidence that St. Jimmy was nothing but a hallucination. She was afraid of how much deeper into insanity Jesus could go, and how much longer she could put up with it. Who did he care about more- Jimmy or his girlfriend?

"You're extraordinary," Jesus whispered in Whatsername's ear before falling asleep one night. And in a flash, as soon as she was sure he was asleep, Whatsername got out of bed, knowing what she had to do. She packed a suitcase and wrote a letter to Jesus. And then she walked right out the door, tears flowing down her cheeks and Jesus snoring softly, oblivious to everything.

"Have you ever heard of anything called _coke?" _Ziggy asked Weird on the day after their first concert.

"Of course." Weird suppressed a _you're nuts _look. "It's a drink. Coca-Cola."

"It wasn't a drink," Ziggy said. "It's a white powder that you inhale through your nose."

"Oh!" Weird laughed a bit nervously. "That's cocaine. It's a drug."

"Like a medical drug?" Ziggy asked.

"No, like a recreational drug," Weird explained. "People take it to feel good. I've never tried it myself. Did you have some recently or something?"

"Yes," Ziggy breathed. "The girl I was with last night gave it to me. It… it's incredible."

Weird shrugged his shoulders. "I assume you had a good night?"

Ziggy nodded gently.

That night's show and afterwards was just as great as the night before. Ziggy chose another woman in Bee-Bee's group to take home with him- he wasn't quite ready to make his selections from fans yet, or to take home a man, as homosexuality was apparently an issue here on Earth. Thankfully, Floyd wasn't home when Ziggy brought her over. He snorted at the idea of what Floyd might say to him. _Get away from Ziggy, you evil woman! Go home!_

_He doesn't understand, _Ziggy thought, biting back a flame of anger. He could do whatever he damn well pleased with his life. Floyd didn't have to tell him what to do.

And so as the week wore on, Ziggy began to sink into the stereotype that Floyd had warned him so sternly against. He ignored Floyd at all costs, so that soon they didn't see each other anymore. He spent most of his time down at the studio, banging out rock tunes with the Spiders From Mars. He picked up men and women after each concert, and best of all, he started seriously purchasing and using the white powder known as cocaine. Soon it became something that Ziggy could not do without. It just made him feel so good, so powerful… He started taking it in favor of eating actual food, and always before he started a concert or had sex with anyone. The high that Ziggy craved was intense. It sent him shooting up to the stars every night.

There was always a period of time after Ziggy came down from the high, though, when he felt extremely depressed for reasons he knew not of. But it always went away with his next drug binge. Still, those bouts of depression crippled and frightened Ziggy. They were worse than any other bout of depression he'd had in the past, like his usual depression multiplied times ten. But Ziggy was never put out for long by these bouts, telling himself he would be alright if he just took the drug again.

Every night, Ziggy instructed the woman that he took home to follow a specific ritual- she would give him oral sex first, and then he would get high and they would have normal sex. Occasionally he spread the cocaine out over her naked body and inhaled it off of her. Though the women always asked Ziggy to wear a condom, he never did, for a reason he wouldn't give. In truth, this was because somewhere in the back of his mind, Ziggy was afraid of his race dying out. He couldn't bear the thought of dying as the last Martian. There had to be some way of spreading his race's DNA, and it was only through Earthly women that Ziggy could think of it. _Pity I never made it to Venus…_

Women were not the only ones receiving Ziggy's attention. The first man he picked up was a fan who said that Ziggy's music had given him the courage to come out as gay to his family. Ziggy raised an invisible eyebrow, wondering where the boy had gotten that message from. "Have you ever had a relationship with another man?"

"No, but I've had crushes before," the man said, staring at Ziggy as if he believed Ziggy was doubting his claim. But all Ziggy did was smile and offer his hand. "Come along with me…"

Ziggy had personally never been one for sex between men. The only two relationships with men that he had had that involved sex in the past had been brutal, and Ziggy had gotten more pain than love out of the experiences. But he supposed his problem was being on the bottom. After taking the male fan back to his apartment, Ziggy got down to business, becoming the one who pummeled the man while on top. He didn't like hearing the man's cries of pain rather than pleasure, but he felt that this was the only way- certainly Ziggy could not perform oral sex on this man, as he would never be as good as those women with their magic mouths. But after the ordeal had finished and the male fan lay naked on the bed, shivering and sniveling, Ziggy lay down next to him and offered to lick his wounds.

He was surprised to find that opening himself back up to men made him more receptive to their advances. Ziggy began flirting with both men and women at his concerts. He started recognizing their good lucks when walking on the street. Ziggy even started finding his band members slightly attractive, and took great delight in embarrassing Weird onstage by jokingly making moves. As Ziggy's stage act grew racier and racier, Billy tried to tell him to tone it down. But Ziggy justified his actions by saying this was what he felt like when he performed, and it wasn't fair to hide his feelings from his fans.

Oftentimes, as Ziggy and his man of the night prepared to make love, Ziggy would sing or speak lyrics from one of his songs to his chosen one. "Don't fake it, baby," he crooned, presenting his bare, pale body to the man. "Lay the real thing on me!" His partner would tug his pants down, and Ziggy sang with a smirk in his voice. "The church of man-love is such a holy place to be!" As the man took his dick in his mouth, Ziggy's song became sighing in pleasure. "Make me, baby…" He moaned swooningly, knowing that it would drive his partner mad with lust. "Make me know you really care! Make me jump into the air!"

The only man that Ziggy did not take any slight interest in was Floyd. It had nothing to do with the fact that Floyd was unattractive, or that Floyd was married already, and more to do with his remaining anger at Floyd. Ever since their altercation over breakfast, a few weeks ago, Ziggy refused to talk or even look at his roommate. He wouldn't speak to him until Floyd apologized, and Floyd would never apologize because he believed in himself too strongly.

Of course, the rock and roll part of Ziggy's new lifestyle was his favorite. The excited jitters before each show had gone away, and Ziggy now saw each performance as a sort of platform for seduction. He had fallen into the trap Floyd had described, of being distracted by groupies, though Ziggy didn't realize it. He still gave it his all every night, but it was no longer meant as a message of hope. Instead, Ziggy enjoyed his ability to give entertainment to the masses. The world was going to end soon? Fuck that! Ziggy was happy. Five years, they say? Who cared? Everyone had to die sometime. And he had achieved one of his goals, anyway- the public adored him. Everyone on Earth adored him (except maybe Floyd). Nothing could be better than this.

But one morning, Ziggy woke up with a slight realization over what was happening to him. He looked in the mirror and was shocked at what he found. Who was that man looking back at him, a man who looked as if he was poised at the very top of the cliff of lunacy and only needed a tap to send him spiraling down to the bottom? And then the depression came in waves and swept Ziggy off of his feet. He managed to snap out of it by taking some more cocaine, but even through the high he was aware that something was going terribly wrong.

Ziggy managed to perform moderately well that night, but his mood got blacker and blacker. When the fans stormed his dressing room, Ziggy snapped at them and tried to leave the room. He was stopped by his bandmates, who were unaware of the testy gleam in Ziggy's eyes. He shoved the Spiders out of the way and stalked briskly down the hall. Only when Ziggy got out into the open air did the anger dissipate, leaving behind an utter weariness and impossible-to-shake depression. He took a taxi home, ready to sleep and sleep and sleep, but found that Floyd was already there when he opened the door, waiting for him.

After their argument at breakfast, Floyd didn't see Ziggy for weeks and weeks and weeks. He was disappointed that he had offended Ziggy so much, and yet he would not take back what he had said. But without Ziggy in Floyd's sight, anxiety grew in him. What was happening to him? Where was he now? What was he doing?

Floyd started working more often and corresponding with Audrey more frequently than before, in order to take his mind off of Ziggy. With every new letter that came addressed from Somerset, a new layer of shame was added to Floyd's already thick embarrassment. He had the most beautiful, loving wife in the world, and he missed her like hell. Why was he so utterly in love with another man, then? What could Ziggy possibly provide him with that Audrey couldn't?

Floyd was beginning to question Ziggy's motives. Ziggy had come to Earth and become a rock star in order to save it. Yet he never seemed to mention it again, not in interviews or anything else that Floyd read or watched as his only means of communicating with his roommate. He didn't seem to have a clear idea on how the Earth should be saved. Floyd began to wonder if this so-called mission had been all a ploy to get Ziggy to Earth and make people fall in love with him. Now and again in the night, when Floyd heard girlish shrieking coming from Ziggy's bedroom, he felt that maybe this guess was right after all.

How was Floyd to warn Ziggy not to go any farther into the abyss of self-destruction? He knew that if he spoke to Ziggy, the alien would just give him the cold shoulder. Was Floyd too cowardly to try and get through to Ziggy? For one thing, he didn't want to offend Ziggy. But for another, he couldn't help but berate himself over and over in his mind, _If you love him as much as you think you do, why don't you try to talk to him?!_

Stress built up in Floyd as the weeks wore on, until finally he couldn't take it anymore. His vulnerable immune system broke down under the stress, and Floyd woke one day to find that he felt too sick to work. He called his boss, who was sympathetic. Floyd never talked about his personal problems, but she had been able to tell there was something going on with him. "Get lots of rest and drink lots of water," she said. "I hope you'll be able to come in tomorrow."

Floyd took his boss's advice to heart and spent the day lying on the couch in the main room, writing lyrics at random, sleeping, and trying to watch TV (although the last action proved to be so painful that Floyd turned it off after ten seconds). When he awoke from his last nap, the revelation came to him. _I should go to one of Ziggy's concerts. _It was the only way for him to find out if he could get through to the man that he loved.

Floyd slept like a rock that night, and woke to find that though he wasn't completely feeling his best, he could probably come into the coffeehouse that day. He went to work, all the while thinking about what Ziggy's concert could possibly be like. He hadn't seen Ziggy perform anything since the campfire with Mylo and Xyloto, which felt like so many years ago.

After work- Floyd was getting out early that night on account of still not feeling very well, or at least that was his excuse- Floyd went over to the theater where Ziggy was performing and found it already jam-packed with girls, most of them teenagers. Many of them wore shirts that proclaimed I LOVE ZIGGY STARDUST! Quite a few of them had also painted their faces to match Ziggy's lightning bolt tattoo. Floyd pushed through them and bought his tickets at the door, then stood by and tried to blend in with the crowd. But even though there were a few men there, none of them looked as old as Floyd did. He stuck out, and badly.

Finally the doors were opened, and people rushed into the theater. Floyd was breathing hard. The theater brought back memories of his time performing as a rock star. He took a seat near the back, not wanting to be recognized and also not wanting Ziggy to see him. He waited for the show to start.

The set was opened with "Space Oddity," and Floyd let out an involuntary gasp when Ziggy took the stage. He hadn't seen his old friend in so long. Ziggy wasn't looking or sounding his best. He sang lazily, with a slight raspiness that came from the cigarettes he had taken to smoking all the time. He weaved in one place onstage, smirking and winking at the front row. And the fans went absolutely wild. Floyd could barely hear the music over the screaming of women in the audience. He shivered a bit.

Ziggy definitely wasn't at the top of his game that night. In between songs he mumbled incoherently as if he was drunk and stared blankly at the audience. Even from far away, Floyd could see how glassy his gaze was. He wondered if Ziggy had been drinking before the show…

And then it hit him like a brick. Ziggy wasn't drunk. Ziggy was _drugged. _Floyd recognized the signs from himself. Ziggy was high, just as Floyd had been onstage for quite a few of his concerts in the past. He had disregarded Floyd's warnings about getting caught up in the trappings of fame, and now he was the same rock star that Floyd had been all those years ago- egotistical, drugged out of his mind, and not caring for anyone in the world but himself.

A cold lick of anger began to fill Floyd, but he forced his rage to die down. Ziggy would pay for this later. He wouldn't let such a lovely man slip through his fingers like this.

And yet there were moments in the show where Ziggy seemed to be right on the mark. The song "Memory of a Free Festival" was performed just as well as it had been the last time Floyd had heard it, and the finale, "A Day In The Life," was a spot-on cover. Ziggy was still there, just shining through the cracks. He needed to be pulled back to the surface, and Floyd felt it was his job to do so.

He wasn't sure what to think of the other band members. They lay shrouded in darkness, so that Floyd couldn't see their faces very clearly. At one point they did step out into the spotlight to perform a song that Floyd had never heard before, while Ziggy stared admiringly at them.

"_We can't dance, we don't talk much. We just ball and play. But then we move like tigers on Vaseline! Well, the bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar. You're the blessed-" _They gestured to the audience. "_We're the Spiders From Mars!"_

Floyd didn't particularly like that penultimate line- "The bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar." It filled him with foreboding, although he couldn't explain why.

After the concert, Floyd went home in a taxi. Ziggy hadn't come home yet, so Floyd sat down on the couch, ready to ambush him when he walked through the door. As he sat there ruminating, he noticed that Ziggy's acoustic guitar was lying propped up against the TV. He couldn't remember it having been there the day before- Ziggy must have been practicing it early in the morning. Despite his current frustration and anger at Ziggy, Floyd felt his heart melt a bit when he imagined Ziggy alone, playing guitar in a solitary manner as the sun came up.

Before Floyd knew it, the guitar was in his arms. He looked it over, and plucked a few strings. It was in tune. Floyd positioned his hands on the instrument. It had been so long since he'd played guitar. Without thinking, as if someone was guiding his hands for him, Floyd began to softly play a tune that he had written a long time ago, and one that seemed appropriate for a weary evening like this one.

"_Ooooh, oooh, oooh," _Floyd sang- there was really no danger in that now, as no one was around to hear him. "_Ooooh, ooooh, oooh…_

"_D-d-d-did you see the frightened ones?_

"_D-d-d-did you hear the falling bombs?_

"_D-d-d-did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath the clear blue sky?_

"_Ooooh, ooooh, oooh_

"_Ooooh, oooh, oooh, oooh_

"_D-d-d-did you see the frightened ones?_

"_D-d-d-did you hear the falling bombs?_

"_The flames are all long gone, but the pain lingers on._

"_Goodbye, blue sky_

"_Goodby, blue sky_

"_Goodbye_

"_Goodbye_

"_Goodbye."_

As Floyd set the guitar down, feeling a bit self-conscious, a voice sounded from the doorway. "Hello, Floyd." Floyd jerked his head up and turned to see Ziggy leaning against the doorframe, looking utterly exhausted. He walked through the threshold and closed the door, taking the guitar out of Floyd's hands. "Long time no see."

"Ziggy, I saw-" Floyd began, but stopped as Ziggy began to play guitar. A chill went through him when he realized that this was the exact same song that he had just been playing.

"_D-d-d-did you see the frightened ones? D-d-d-did you hear the falling bombs?..."_

Floyd watched with shock as Ziggy sang and played the entire song, from start to finish, without any mistakes. Up close, he could see just how wasted Ziggy was. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and his skin was pulled tight across his face to create even harsher angles than he had had before.

When Ziggy laid the guitar down and stood up, Floyd blurted, "How did you know that song?"

Ziggy didn't answer right away. He walked over to the kitchen area before finally saying, "I'm a Martian, Floyd. We never forget anything."

All Floyd could do was sit in shock as he processed this new fact. Then he stood up and made his way over to the kitchen area as well. Ziggy was leaning against the sink, staring out the window; Floyd sat down at the table.

"So… you remember everything that's ever happened in your life?" Floyd murmured, still unable to believe it.

"Everything but my own birth," Ziggy said. "And some of my earlier years. But I remember learning to crawl, then walk, and then talk. I remember all the lyrics to a song after hearing it once. I remember the looks on your and Audrey's faces when you discovered me on your land, right down to the way your eyebrows twitched. I learned to play guitar over the course of a week because of my infallible memory. And I remember the deterioration and destruction of Mars over the course of five years, every one of those 1,825 days in vivid detail."

He continued to stare out the window as Floyd said nothing, unable to think of what to say. Ziggy's face reflected in the window glass was dejected and tired. It was the face of a man who had given up.

"The song you just sang was called 'Goodbye Blue Sky,'" Floyd offered at last. "I wrote it in honor of my father, who died in World War II."

"You never knew your father, did you?" Ziggy mumbled.

Floyd shook his head, though he knew that Ziggy's couldn't see the action. "I was born on the same day that he died."

"It's probably better that way," Ziggy said, and his voice carried an odd quality to it that Floyd had never heard in Ziggy's voice- a note of desperation and pained emotion. "I mean, if you'd been five or so years old when he died, you'd have the memories…"

"It still hurt a lot," Floyd said, not quite sure where Ziggy was going with this. "Knowing that there's someone who should be in my life but isn't."

"But at least you weren't around to watch him die," Ziggy said, that same tone in his voice. "At least you were spared from growing attached to him. That's the worst thing, is that- growing attached to someone who leaves you in the end…"

He paused as if waiting for Floyd to say something, but when the speechless Floyd stayed silent, Ziggy murmured, "Everyone I knew and loved died on Mars. And they died hating me. No one loved me when the planet was… extinguished." Ziggy blinked and Floyd watched in the reflection as he looked down at his hands. "And… Floyd… we Martians aren't supposed to live this long. I shouldn't be alive… and now that I am…" He breathed in deeply. "I don't want to _die, _Floyd." On the word "die" Ziggy's voice jumped an octave, and Floyd saw him blinking rapidly in the reflection. He watched painfully as Ziggy closed his eyes, letting tears cascade down his cheeks.

"It's alright, Ziggy," Floyd finally managed to weakly say. "You can cry in front of me."

Ziggy opened his eyes. "I'm not crying," he said calmly, adding a cracked smile to reinforce his statement. And yet Floyd saw the tears gleaming on his face, and he wished he could hold Ziggy in his arms and take the pain of a million years away from him, take it into his body so that Ziggy could live in peace.

After a few moments of tense silence, Ziggy turned around to face Floyd. His face was carefully composed, but that same desperate emotion still lay behind his eyes. His mouth was set firmly, before his lips opened and curved downward as he spoke. "Floyd… I _can _die, you know. I can fall ill and die, and I can drown, and I can burn to death. Even if you stab me in the heart, I won't be able to repair myself. And I want you to do- I mean, know something…"

"Yes?" Floyd said, his voice quiet but rough.

"There's a special quality my blood has," Ziggy said, staring intensely into Floyd's eyes. "It's what gives my body the ability to heal after I'm wounded. My blood is essentially a cure-all. Drinking it can heal the sick, and applying it to broken skin can make the skin knit back together."

Floyd asked, "How would any Martian know this?"

Ziggy sighed, looking close to breaking again. "Besides scientists, there were some very sick, twisted people living on Mars," he said. "That's not the point. The point is, when I… if I die here in America… I don't want you to hesitate in harvesting my blood. You might need it in the future."

"But you're not going to die, Ziggy," Floyd stated fervently. "You have five more years to go, and more if your goal is reached."

"You don't know that. None of us know how long we've got… People die every day, Floyd. And I could be one of them." Ziggy's lips trembled, and his eyes filled with tears again, but he quickly bit down on his lower lip and looked away from Floyd, pretending he wasn't emotional. In turn, Floyd pretended right along by not saying anything. He stared at Ziggy for a long while before finally saying in his most soothing voice, "You're not going to die now, Ziggy. But if you keep taking drugs like you've been doing, you will in the future."

Ziggy's body stiffened. He stared at Floyd. "I- I don't…"

"They're bad for you, Ziggy," Floyd said. "I know because I was addicted once too. I swear, it's much better being clean than being high. When you're under the drugs' control, you can't think for yourself, and you do such idiotic things…"

"I know," Ziggy said suddenly. "I know, Floyd! I know it's killing me. I know that tomorrow I won't be able to… I won't care about this in the morning… But please, Floyd, can we wait to talk about this? I just, I- I just… it's been a long night, all right?" He passed a hand along his face, and his shoulders shook with a suppressed sob.

Half of Floyd wanted to continue to pressure Ziggy until he agreed to give up drugs for good. But the other half told himself that Ziggy had had enough for one night. The Martian looked ready to either fall flat on the floor or collapse into tears, and neither option was preferable. Floyd nodded. "I understand, Ziggy."

"Good," Ziggy said, half-gasping. He brushed the tears from the corners of his eyes. "I, I'm just… I'm just overwrought. I'm sorry." He blinked. "I need to go lie down…"

"It's all right," Floyd said, and Ziggy made for his bedroom. "Goodnight, Ziggy."

"Goodnight, Floyd," Ziggy mumbled, closing the door behind him.

Floyd sat at the kitchen table for a moment more, his heart aching with everything that Ziggy had said and done. The one thing his mind kept returning to was Ziggy's insistence that Floyd take Ziggy's blood after his death. Not only was the thought intriguing, but Ziggy's fear of death was a bit worrying. Why was he so sure he was going to die? It couldn't possibly be any kind of premonition…

Eventually Floyd got up and turned the lights out, still thinking about Ziggy and his painful drug addiction. _I'll talk to him in the morning. _As long as Ziggy didn't get high again, Floyd would force Ziggy to talk to him and to quit taking drugs for good. He hated to see someone he loved so much getting defeated by this monster.

As Floyd passed Ziggy's room when leaving the kitchen area, he stopped for a moment and listened at the door. The sound of violent sobbing was coming from within. Floyd's heart twisted into pieces, and he made his way out of the room and into bed.

Later he would wonder why he hadn't gone in and comforted Ziggy. Anyone else who loved Ziggy half as much would have.


	24. Should We Crush His Sweet Hands?

Chapter Twenty-Three: _Should We Crush His Sweet Hands?_

Unfortunately, as it turned out, there was no talk in the morning. Ziggy awoke in the morning with the full intention to talk to Floyd. He wrote in the leather-bound notebook for a while. Then he went into the bathroom, and saw himself in the mirror and realized how terrible he looked. Depression sunk over Ziggy, and he went back out into the bedroom and rummaged around in his belongings for coke, the only stuff that could make him feel better and lift him out of his low. When Floyd woke up, Ziggy was long gone from the penthouse.

This return to things as normal may have broken Floyd's heart, but for the Spiders From Mars, it did nothing but infuriate them. Ziggy on drugs was not the kind of person anyone wanted to be around. Sometimes he was excited and bouncing off walls, and that could be fun while it lasted, but most of the time he was surly and obnoxious, when he wasn't flirting with everyone in the room. "What do you find so attractive about me?!" Weird complained one afternoon, dodging a kiss from Ziggy. "Why don't you just get a boyfriend already?"

"I want you," the crazed Ziggy replied. "And if I can't have you… well, I'll just do _this!" _He slammed his foot down on Weird's toes, and Weird gasped in pain. "Damn, man! That seriously _hurt!"_

At least it wasn't nearly the worst injuries Weird, Gilly, and Henry had received from rock stars and Billy, respectively. Ziggy could barely even throw a punch. He could, however, push and shove people, and kick them or stomp on their feet. And the drug-borne, confused invective that he hurled sometimes felt like lashings of a whip. By the end of the day, the Spiders From Mars were usually too tired to celebrate their concert or to pick up any girls. Ziggy's abuse was taking its toll on them.

One night, the Spiders all headed off to Weird's apartment, barely able to talk to each other from exhaustion. Henry finally spoke as they all crashed into his first-floor suite. "Whew, that sure was a hard gig."

"You can say that again," Gilly muttered, throwing himself on the couch as Weird went to get drinks from the fridge. Henry plopped in the beanbag chair in front of the TV. "Whew, that sure was a-"

"Shut up, Henry," Weird called from the kitchen.

"Okay," Henry mumbled, looking down at his feet.

Weird emerged with three beers in his hands. He passed them out to his bandmates and then settled down on the couch next to Gilly with a sigh. "It's been a week, and none of us have gotten paid for these shows yet."

"I thought Stardust was the only one receiving income for this," Gilly offered. "Or maybe Parker's hard up."

"Stardust said very early on that he would split all his profits with us!" Weird complained. "Don't you remember that? Surely _he's _getting paid."

"We should ask him for our shares, then," Henry spoke up from the beanbag.

Weird waved his hand. "Ah, don't bother. He won't say anything useful anyway, now that he's always high all the time."

The band heaved a collective sigh and sipped from their beer cans. Soon Gilly spoke up. "What's so great about Stardust, anyway? Sure, he plays guitar like no one else on Earth, but he's such a snob! The way he's been hogging all of our rightfully deserved money…"

"I thought you were the fan here," Weird said. "You and Henry used to like him."

"We liked the music," Henry said. "But yeah, I can't stand Stardust as a person either. I don't get it- he only has to smile or shake his hips and the fans go bananas!"

Weird blinked, surprised that Henry had made such a clear point. He took a sip of beer before answering. "Oh, they don't know him like we do. If all those hormone-addled girls knew what he's _really _like…"

"They wouldn't be hormone-addled anymore?" Henry asked.

Weird laughed harshly. "They wouldn't love him as much as they do now." He stood up, and Henry and Gilly looked on with expressions of interest.

"When each gig's over, we wait to be congratulated on a show well done," Weird said. "But it never happens! All those so-called fans of our band breeze right on past _us, _the ones who make half the music they just heard, and head straight for Stardust! And then he smiles, _ever_ so politely, like this-"

Weird grinned widely and goofily, crossing his eyes, and Henry and Gilly laughed. Weird abandoned his smile instantly, angry. "And then the girls go wild all over again and Parker goes 'Good job, Ziggy' like he's so damn proud and we're forgotten again, no one will even look our way, and it all makes me so angry I could be _sick!" _Weird gagged at the vivid memories of after-show activity, and Gilly and Henry nodded sympathetically.

"So what can we do about it?" Gilly asked.

"I don't know, but by God, I'm not going to stand for this." Weird crumpled his beer can and threw it on the floor. "Not when the Earth is dying in five years." He began to pace back and forth. "There are a thousand better things I could be doing with my time than working for a goody-goody, self-absorbed rock star!"

Gilly and Henry high-fived each other at the sentiment. "Maybe we should quit," Henry suggested.

"No," Weird said in between pacing. "It's not even the end of the year yet. I don't want to spend the next four years of my life living in poverty."

"But we're hardly getting paid at all anyway," Gilly said. "Why don't we just move to another studio and find work there?"

"What work?" Weird sighed. "No one's recording around these places but Stardust. Probably no one else is recording in the entire world."

"He's everywhere," Gilly said sadly. "We'll never escape his shadow."

"Right now, we're _eclipsed _by that shadow," Weird said. "What we need is some way to chop down the tree so that we saplings can get into the limelight."

"We're going to kill trees?" Henry asked. Weird rolled his eyes. "No, Henry. Shut up."

"We could dig up some dirt on Stardust," Gilly said. "Find out all about his past that he's so secretive about."

"Haven't you heard? There are no records of anyone named Ziggy Stardust living anywhere in England before this year. Sure, it's probably a pseudonym, but trying to find out his real name could take a lot of time- time that we don't have!" Weird stopped pacing. "Besides, no scandal is going to bring this guy down. His fans and everyone else who goes to his- _our- _concerts all know that Stardust is gay and takes drugs all the time. And yet this hasn't diminished his popularity at all!"

"There's no getting out of this," Gilly mumbled.

Henry looked frightened. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life working for Stardust. It's even worse than when we were working for Parker!"

"We don't just need some big scandal," Weird mused. "We need something that will put him out for good. Something like…"

He froze, and after a few moments a plan began to concoct itself in his mind, a plan that made his eyes light up with excitement and his breathing speed up. "Wait!" Weird ran off into the kitchen, with Gilly and Henry staring bemusedly after him. When he returned, he was holding three large kitchen knives.

"This is what we're going to do to him," Weird said, miming a blade running across his throat.

The other two Spiders who no longer wanted to be Spiders blinked in shock, and then began to slowly grin, understanding. There was a small undercurrent of worry and fear to go along with this plan, though. "How are we gonna do that?" Henry spoke up.

"I think the question is _where," _Weird clarified. "We're gonna sneak up on him and stab him when he least expects it. That's the easy part. All we have to do now is decide where this could happen."

"How about in the studio, when Stardust comes in first thing in the morning?" Henry said.

Weird sucked in a breath. "Far too predictable. They'll know it was us right away. Remember, we don't want to get caught."

"We could invite him over here," Gilly said. "No one but us will see it happen."

"Yeah, but how are we gonna explain that to the cops?" Weird asked. "Once Stardust goes missing, they'll start investigating. And it'll look pretty suspicious if we turn out to be the last people to see Stardust alive. What we need is to frame someone else for the crime, and have it in a location where there will be plenty of possible suspects, but have them distracted in a way so that they don't see us doing it."

"That'd be hard to pull off…" Henry said. They thought about it for a bit. Then Gilly exclaimed, "What about onstage?"

Weird cocked his head. "Onstage?"

"Yeah," Gilly said. "You know, none of our fans really know what we look like… We're always in the shadows, and we wear black all the time. The only time they ever see us is when we come out for 'Hang On To Yourself,' and that's only once every show- surely their memories can't be too good from only seeing us once each night. We could come out of the shadows during one song- not 'Hang On To Yourself,' obviously, because that would be too suspicious- and stab Stardust while he's singing."

Weird rubbed his hands together in delight as he envisioned the scene. "My God, Gilly, that's a great idea! But what if we are recognized?"

"Masks," Henry said. "We can wear black masks covering our faces. We always wear black anyway, but never on our heads. So if the fans see us in black masks, they'll think it's not us, and they'll get suspicious."

Weird slapped Henry's shoulder. "Well, what do you know? Henry, you're getting smarter!" Henry beamed, and Weird added, "What do you do when a drummer shows up on your doorstep?"

"Uh… give him a drum kit?" Henry asked.

"No. You pay him for the pizza!" Weird cackled. "Still not smart enough to understand my humor, though!"

"Focus," Gilly told his bandmates. "I just had another idea. Why don't we do it during the end of the song 'Space Oddity?' There's a strobe light effect during the final instrumental. Once that starts, we could sneak up behind Stardust and do the deed. It'll be hard to tell who we are with the strobes anyway."

"But who do we blame?" Henry asked.

Weird laughed. "We'll say that the fans did it! We'll say they got in and tied us up backstage. We'll say that they took our places and killed Stardust, all because they were driven out of their minds with lust for him! They just couldn't help themselves… he was so handsome he had to die." At this, Weird began laughing maniacally, and Gilly and Henry joined in.

"The sooner it can happen, the better," Gilly said. "Death to Ziggy Stardust!" They began chanting the four words over and over. "Death to Ziggy Stardust! Death to Ziggy Stardust! Death to Ziggy Stardust!"

"Excuse me?" a British voice sounded from outside the open window.

After Ziggy's continued downward spiral, Floyd had given up a bit on his friend. He tried to wait for him every night, but whenever his footsteps sounded near the door and the giggles of a woman (or chuckles of a man) carried through the wood, it sent deep feeling of jealousy into Floyd, and he bolted. He tried to confront Ziggy early in the morning, but it was never early enough. The last straw came when Floyd was home from the coffeehouse for the night, and receieved a telephone call from the theater where Ziggy was performing.

"Hello?"

"Hey man," came the voice of a heavily-intoxicated man. "Oh…"

Floyd recognized the voice. "Ziggy? Are you all right? Where are you?"

"My school day's insane," Ziggy said seductively. Floyd blinked. "_What_?"

"My work's down the drain," Ziggy insisted. Floyd knew for sure that he was high. "But she's a total blam-blam…"

"Where are you calling from?" Floyd asked again. He heard the voices of women in the background.

Ziggy laughed. "She said she had to squeeze it, but then she… oh, then she…" He half sighed, half moaned into the receiver. "Mmmm…"

"Cut this out right now," Floyd demanded, trying to ignore the pressure building in him as he heard Ziggy's sexy groaning. "Where the _hell _are you?"

"The theater," Ziggy answered innocently. "Oh, Henry, don't be unkind…"

"Who's Henry?" Floyd asked.

"Go away," was all Ziggy gave as an answer. "I can't take you this time. No way!"

"What in bloody hell are you going on about?" Floyd snapped. "You've gone mad!"

"Don't crash over there," Ziggy said. "There's only room for one, and here she comes. Ah, here she comes!" He laughed again. "She's coming…"

Floyd rolled his eyes at this childish innuendo. "Are you kicking me out, then?"

"Yes," Ziggy said. "I'm kicking you out." He hung up the phone with a clunk.

Floyd stood for a while, blankly staring at the phone before hanging it up with a sigh. This was why he hated talking on phones so much- he couldn't see the other person's eyes or mouth, and he had no idea if they were telling the truth about their location. And of course, mistakes could happen through the wire, as one had happened six years ago that led to Floyd's cheating on Audrey. Floyd went over to the front door, anger stirring in him. He supposed he could let Ziggy have the entire penthouse to himself and his girl, just for tonight, though he was a bit worried at what they could possibly need the entire suite for. If it was anything that would make a mess, Floyd would force Ziggy to clean it up in the morning.

It wasn't until he was walking out alone on the streets that the panic hit him. He was alone in Suffragette City, all by himself, with an indefinite amount of time before he could go to the closest place to home. Floyd felt lost under the streetlights, the glowing neon signs and lit-up windows of tall buildings. The noise was the worst part, though. Everywhere he went, there was some form of loudness- the cars whooshing by, the people shouting at each other to be heard, the radio blaring. Floyd walked quickly through the night, wondering where to go. There was the coffeehouse, but Floyd didn't want to show up and not work. And he was not in the mood for work.

Floyd turned into an alleyway and began walking along, listening to brief snippets of conversation through the windows of apartments. It was the 28th of November, and the weather was chilly nowadays, but for some reason most of the apartments on the first floor had their windows open, the screen separating them from the world. Floyd wondered if they all opened their windows together on purpose, and shivered from the cold as he walked. Then another chill went through him, something that cut straight to his bone and had nothing to do with the cold. Floyd had remembered the significance of the date it would become two days from now- November 30th. That was the anniversary of the worst day of his life- the day he had performed his last concert and gone insane. He always remembered this date; it just wouldn't leave his head, no matter how hard he tried. Audrey was always close to him during the 30th, but this year she wouldn't be around to comfort him. The thought made Floyd long for her even more than he had before.

_Forgive me, Audrey, _he thought as he walked. _Forgive me for all those explicit dreams about Ziggy. I don't love him the way I love you. I can't believe it's been nearly two months since we came to this city city city…_

As Floyd walked, he was startled by a male voice that came out of one of the window screens. Floyd stopped his aimless rambling to listen. There wasn't just one voice; there were three, and they were all yelling the same thing. "Death to Ziggy Stardust! Death to Ziggy Stardust! Death to Ziggy Stardust!"

"Excuse me?!" Floyd called without thinking. "Death to… Ziggy Stardust?"

"Dammit!" one of the voices growled. "I should have closed the screen!" The voice's owner poked his head out from the blinds, his face shadowy, but the glare on it visible. "It's nothing. Go away!"

"No, it's not nothing," Floyd said. "Why do you want Ziggy Stardust to die? As far as I know he's-"

"My God," the man breathed. "Oh my God. Guys, come look at this!"

Soon all three men were peering down surprisedly at Floyd, who stared confusedly back at them. "What is it?" the second man said.

The first man pointed at Floyd. "Look! That's Pink- Pink Floyd! I'd know him anywhere!"

"Who?" the third man asked, while Floyd blurted, "No, that's not me. Common mistake, I know! My name is John Andrews."

"Ahahaha!" the first man laughed. "You can't get away from us that easily!" He opened the screen and jumped out of the window. "I can't believe it's really you!"

Floyd made the move to run, but the smaller, wiry man was faster. He jumped on Floyd and sent him crashing to the pavement. Floyd struggled hard in the man's grip, but suddenly there were three, not just one, pairs of hands on him, and they were all holding him down.

"Let me go!" Floyd commanded. "LET ME GO! You don't understand! I'm not who you think I am!"

"He sounds exactly like him," the first man said admiringly. "Okay, guys, knock him out." And Floyd heard a _thwack, _and for a few moments felt a blinding pain explode in his head, and then nothing more.

Floyd woke up in an unfamiliar room, with an unbearable pain in the back of his head. He tried to lift his hands to touch his head, but found that they were tied together to the leg of a chair. The room was dark, lit only by a lamp in the middle of the floor. Three shadowy men were talking quietly to each other in the corner. Floyd listened in on their conversation with alarm.

"This is just my luck!" the first man was saying. "A great way to finish off the day- we find my favorite singer on the street!"

"How do you know it's really him, though?" the second man asked.

"I've seen his concert video enough times in the past," the first man explained. "I even saw him live, way back then. That's Pink Floyd, no doubt about it."

"But what's he doing here?" the third man asked.

The first man shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But he's here anyway."

"Do you think he has anything to do with Stardust?" the second man wondered aloud. This brought back the sound of their voices to Floyd, yelling four words- "Death to Ziggy Stardust!" He shuddered and called out to them. "Do you mean Ziggy?"

The three men turned around. Since they were still in the shadows, Floyd couldn't see their faces. "Yeah," the first man said. "Do you know him?"

There was no time for lies now. Somehow, Floyd felt that Ziggy was in danger, and telling the truth was the only possible way of saving him. "Yes. He's my roommate. We came to America together. He landed in my backyard when he came down from Mars."

"Well, what do you know!" the first man crowed. "Stardust was friends with Pink! What are the chances of that happening?"

"Who are you?" Floyd asked. "What do you want with Ziggy? Why are you keeping me here?"

"We won't answer any questions until you answer some of ours," the first man said. He came closer, but not close enough into the lamplight so that Floyd could identify him. In his hands was a square-shaped object- what looked to be a vinyl record. "What's your name? Don't give us a pseudonym. Where are you from? What happened to you?"

Floyd sighed. "My name is Floyd Pinkerton. I used to be a rock star, but that was a long time ago. I'm from England- you know that!"

"Where in England?" the man asked.

"Bath. Somerset. As for what happened to me, I retired from the music business. I couldn't take it." He shuddered as the memories crawled over him. "Now, what about you?"

"We can't tell you who we are," the first man said. "Or what we want with Stardust. We're keeping you here because I'm quite the fan of yours." From the tone of his voice, Floyd got the feeling that he was smiling. The man crept the slightest bit forward and slid the record out of its case. Before Floyd could squint into the darkness to try and make out the man's face, he was suddenly hit between the eyes with a blinding flash of light- a flashlight that the man was holding in his other hand. Floyd covered his eyes in pain and blinked, waiting for spots to clear from his vision. He couldn't look directly into the light, as it was now all around him. The first man- Floyd strained to see his face, but the light ironically hid it from view- set the record in its sleeve on the floor, and Floyd recognized it as the sleeve belonging to his first album, _Bricks In The Wall. _The man tapped the very top of the sleeve, and Floyd read the dedication with a painful remembrance- _In memory of my father, John Andrew Pinkerton…_

"John Andrews, huh?" the first man said, pride gleaming in his voice. "You should know better than to fool an old fan of yours, Pink."

Floyd shuddered against his will and pushed the record sleeve away. "I'm not Pink anymore, though. I don't sing. I'm just a family man. I got dragged into this whole mess in America by mistake!" He sat up straighter. "Are you planning on harming Ziggy? I heard what you said when I walked by the window. You want him to die!" With that came the realization that these people were probably much more dangerous than he thought.

"Well, let's just say we aren't exactly fans of his," the first man said. "Never mind that." He blinked the flashlight off and stepped back into the shadows, and Floyd was blinded again.

"No!" he shouted. "You know if you release me, I'll go tell Ziggy everything I heard tonight! I'll warn him. You won't get away with whatever you're planning to do."

"Then we won't release you," the first man said. He turned back to his friends. "Come on, let's talk alone." They walked away into a room which Floyd presumed was the kitchen. "Stop!" he yelled desperately to them. "Come back now! What are you planning to do?" Floyd yanked on the chair leg, pulling it crashing to the ground. He then tried to drag the chair over to the kitchen, but his wrists were so sore that it was impossible. Instead, Floyd curled up on the floor and listened intently to the discussion going on inside.

"…can't keep him here… neighbors… screams…"

"But Stardust… can't let him… warning…"

"Why don't… blackmail…"

Suddenly the first man walked out of the light of the kitchen and up to Floyd. "We've decided something," he said. "We'll release you, but only if you do two things for us. One, you sing us a song, and two, you don't tell Stardust about what happened tonight."

"How can you ensure the latter won't happen?" Floyd asked.

From the tone of his voice, Floyd could tell the man was smiling again. "How would you like everyone to know that Pink Floyd is living right here in Suffragette City, in the same apartment as Ziggy Stardust?"

At the thought of people swarming the penthouse looking for him, Floyd turned pale. He started shaking, unable to get out of the fantasy, and his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. _NO!_

"Yeah, I didn't think you wanted that," the man said casually. "You know, you're crazy. The price of fame, I suppose. Do you agree to my terms?"

"Yes," Floyd whispered. He couldn't believe it- this was the second time someone had held the threat of revealing his location over his head, and he still swayed under it. Floyd felt he was much weaker than he thought. "What song would you like to hear?"

"'Money,'" the man said. "Get up now and sing it properly."

Floyd sat up and began to sing a song he hadn't thought of in years, what was probably one of the first songs he'd ever written. _"Money, get away. Get a good job with more pay, you're okay. Money, it's a gas. Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash. New car, caviar, four-star daydream, think I'll buy me a football team…"_

As Floyd sang, the two other men, who had said next to nothing since Floyd got there, came out of the kitchen and crept up to listen to the song. Just before Floyd reached the guitar solo, one of the men leaned in and pressed a cloth to his face. Floyd jerked backward, smelling the sickly sweet scent that could only mean one thing. "What the-" The three men leapt on him, and the scent filled his nose again until the world turned black. Floyd fell to the floor, not even feeling it. The Spiders From Mars surveyed their handiwork.


	25. Summer Has Come To Pass

Chapter Twenty-Four: _Summer Has Come To Pass_

Jesus awoke on the floor of Whatsername's apartment, a folded up piece of paper next to his head. For a moment he wondered where he was, and then it all hit him. The letter… He fumbled for the note, and reread it shaking hands.

_Dear John,_

_I can't take this place. I'm leaving it tonight. I can't take this town. I'm leaving you behind. You're not the Jesus of Suburbia. The St. Jimmy is a figment of your father's rage and your mother's love. You are the idiot America._

_P.S.- Nobody likes you. Everyone left you. They're all out without you, having fun._

When Jesus, or now John, had first received this letter, he had sat there for a long time, unable to think or do anything for shock. He'd looked all over the apartment and found no trace of his girlfriend anywhere. It was true- she had left him. Memories began to turn in the back of Jesus's head, and he had rushed out of there as quickly as he could. It was time to find Jimmy.

Jesus had known exactly where in the city to go. There was a glow of light- St. Jimmy, a spark in the night. He had approached Jesus with wariness in his eyes, bearing gifts and trust, a fixture in the city of lust. "What the hell's your name?" he said to Jesus, taking him by the shoulder and shaking him. "What's your pleasure and your pain? Do you dream too much? Do you think what you need is a crutch?" He shoved Jesus backwards, and the smaller man had panted. "Please, Jimmy, I just want drugs… I used up the last of the dope…"

St. Jimmy didn't seem surprised to hear this. In fact, as he moved to gather Jesus's request, he gave the young man a stare that seemed to convey that he knew exactly what was going on. _Your girlfriend has left you, _his eyes said. _I told you she would, but you didn't listen._

In the crowd of pain that was blocking Jesus from the real world, St. Jimmy came without any shame. He handed the drugs over to Jesus, who took them eagerly. "Thank you, Jimmy, thank you…" Jimmy said nothing, but his eyes continued to speak to Jesus. They said, _We're fucked up. But we're not the same. _And just like that, he dissolved into the shadows. Jesus, trembling, walked back to the apartment by himself.

Once back at his girlfriend's apartment, Jesus smoked all the weed Jimmy had given him and shot up with heroin for one more time. The absence of pain was much-needed by that point. He couldn't remember anything more.

But now he was awake again, and for the first time in months, Jesus was beginning to see things clearly. He set the letter down and blinked. _You are the idiot America. _So Jesus had become the very thing he'd been rebelling against. Maybe he had been one all along. Maybe there was no such thing as the American idiot, or maybe everyone was one. Whatever. If there was anything Jesus had learned from this experience, it was that there was no point in rebelling against anything at all. Everyone was on the same broken side.

The thing that really killed Jesus was the lack of a name on his girlfriend's letter. Though he had spent nearly three months with her, he suddenly couldn't remember what her name had been. Scared and startled, Jesus pressed his back against the bed. "What's her name?!" Why wasn't his memory working? _"What's her name?!" _The apartment gave no answers.

_Why the hell didn't she sign it? _Jesus wondered, staring down at his hands. _Even my dad signed his letter when he left…_

Jesus's, or John's, father had indeed signed a very confusing letter that his son would never forget a word of. _Dearly beloved, _it read, _are you listening? I can't remember a word that you were saying. Are we demented or am I disturbed? The space that's in between insane and insecure- oh, therapy, can you please fill the void?! Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed? Nobody's perfect, and I stand accused, for lack of a better word. And that's my best excuse. ANDREW ARMSTRONG._

Jesus had never seen his father alive again. He hadn't quite been sure what was going on, with his mother crying and relatives coming over. It was only when he was in the cemetery, looking at the hole and the coffin that was supposed to go into it, that Jesus had understood suddenly. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. As the coffin was lowered, Jesus had turned tail and pelted at full speed out of the deathly still graveyard. He didn't stop running until he was home and in his room, behind a locked door.

Some long moments later, a knock came at the door, followed by Jesus's mother's voice. "Johnny? Are you okay?"

"No!" he had called through the door.

"Please come out…"

"No!" he shouted again. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up when September ends."

And that was that. Jesus, or John, hadn't slept through the entirety of September. But he had come out the next morning a different person. He had grown distant from his mother, and started slacking off in school. A few years later, his mother had remarried, and that was the end of all communication between them. Jesus had fallen in with his crowd of disciples and become the American idiot that he was now. He had taken on the role of Jesus of Suburbia, someone who forgot but never forgave, who refused help instead of offering it. No one had died for Jesus's sins, and he certainly wasn't going to die for anyone else's. That was the way it had always been.

Until now.

A woman had stripped the Jesus of Suburbia of his title. All the painful teenage years of growing up out in the suburbs were washed away. There was no tough Jesus of Suburbia anymore. Instead, there was only John, a small boy once again, lying on the wooden floor of his girlfriend's bedroom and sobbing for said girlfriend, whose name he couldn't even remember, and for his father, whom he had never cried for before. He even cried for the reality that the Earth was going to die in five years, and he had spent most of his miserable life defying everyone who tried to help him with it. He had driven away the one person he had ever loved, and now he couldn't even remember what her name had been.

Alone and lonely, John curled up into a ball and choked as tears streamed down his face, "What's her name? What'ser name, what'sername, whatshername?"

When Floyd next woke up, he had no idea where he was. The first thing he registered was a terrible smell. Blinking his eyes to focus better, Floyd saw a blue sky above him, obscured by tall gray buildings. His head ached, and so did his wrists and ribs. Floyd sat up, groaning, and looked around. He was in a dirty alley near a street. The sounds of cars rushing by reached his ears.

_What hap-_

And he remembered. Ziggy kicking him out. Walking past a suspicious apartment building. Getting kidnapped by three strange men who wanted to cause harm to Ziggy. Being blackmailed into not warning Ziggy about it by using the threat of his location. Singing 'Money' to the three-man crowd… and getting knocked out with chloroform. The men had apparently dumped Floyd in a back alley.

Floyd checked his pockets first, to make sure no one had rolled him while he was unconscious. His luck was not to be- Floyd had been carrying several dollar bills that were now gone. _At least they were only twenties, _he thought. Now that that was over with… Floyd stood up shakily and flexed his muscles for more pain. His head was pounding from being slammed against the sidewalk, his wrists were in pain from tugging on the bonds that tied him to the chair, and his ribcage had probably been bruised from being tossed into the alley. Other than that, he was fine.

In contrast, Ziggy Stardust was not fine. Floyd debated in his head for moment- should he go ahead and warn Ziggy anyway that there was a group of people out there who wanted to cause harm to him? What could they possibly do?

_They could send the press to our apartment, _Floyd thought. _They'd murder me murder me murder me_

Floyd had to lie low here in America. After causing so many deaths at his last concert, he couldn't manage to be caught for it. And yet at the same time, he wondered if it was worth it to save Ziggy. Who knew what those wackjob men had in mind for him?

There was nothing Floyd could do but stumble out of the alley, head reeling, and wander off on the streets, looking for a familiar place. The apartment was farther away than the coffeehouse. Floyd checked his wrist, but found that even his watch had been stolen. Judging from the sky, he guessed that it was about time for him to come in for work. Good. He could use the phone while he was there.

"John!" Floyd's coworker called in alarm as he staggered through the doorway of the coffeehouse. "Where have you been? You're late for work!"

"I'd tell you, but you'd never believe it," Floyd mumbled, pushing past her and going into a back room. "I have to use the phone…"

Sitting down with the door closed, Floyd dialed the phone number of his and Ziggy's apartment. _Please pick up, Ziggy, please pick up… _After a few stray rings, the receiver was picked up and Ziggy's voice said, "Hello?"

"Ziggy," Floyd murmured. "Thank God you're there. Listen to me-"

"Oh, leave me alone, y'know!" Ziggy cried, and Floyd realized with a sinking feeling that Ziggy was still high.

"I won't leave you alone! Ziggy, you need to know-"

"Oh, Henry, get off the phone," Ziggy drawled, and Floyd suppressed a sigh. There he went again with the name _Henry. _Who the hell was Henry? Ziggy continued, "I gotta straighten my face. This mellow-thighed chick just put my spine out of place!"

"What the _hell?" _Floyd finally had to gasp. "What were you doing last night?"

"Ah, secrets, secrets!" Ziggy laughed. "Don't lean on me, man. We had a bit of fun!"

Floyd sighed. "You've better have the place ready for visitors in a few minutes. I'm coming over there right now." He hung up the phone, wanting to slap Ziggy across the face. Those fucking drugs…

"Where are you going now?" the woman Floyd worked with asked him as he stepped out the door.

"Home," Floyd answered. "I can't work now. I'm sorry." He rushed out into the street and hailed a taxi as soon as possible.

Ziggy was nowhere to be found when Floyd got to the apartment, but the sight that met his eyes was shocking. The main room was thoroughly trashed. Food supplies lay strewn across the floor- smashed eggs, spilled milk, even what looked like whipped cream here and there. The cushions had been pulled off the couch and thrown to different places in the room. The walls were covered in what looked like lipstick, and even the curtains had been torn down and ripped up. Only Ziggy's guitar stood untouched by the TV, like it always had. The floor was also covered in a white powder. Without so much as a few glimpses, Floyd knew exactly what it was. So Ziggy had been addicted to cocaine…

_Did he have a nervous breakdown, or just a really kinky night of sex? _Floyd wondered. He approached the kitchen table, where a note was scrawled in lipstick.

_To Mr. Stardust:_

_I'm sorry I didn't have time to help you clean up. But I had a great night. It was fun trying out all those techniques with you. _

_Carla_

Floyd groaned. A kinky night of sex it had been, then. He checked his bedroom to make sure it had been spared from destruction (it had), and then walked into Ziggy's bedroom.

The floor was absolutely littered with more cocaine, and a broken mirror lay next to the bed. Clothes were strewn about, as if Ziggy had been playing dress-up, and the sheets were stripped from the bed. A pillow had been ripped open, and feathers were everywhere. Floyd sat down on the bed and felt something hard beneath his bottom. He stood up again and pulled the object out from under him. It was a leather-bound notebook, the same one that Floyd had returned to Ziggy on the night of their "Who's Got The Bigger Dick" contest. Floyd set it down next to him, too anxious to look through it. His mind was screaming at him. _Ziggy is in danger! You need to call him!_

Floyd got up and ran to the phone. He dialed the number of the studio that Ziggy had left as an emergency number, and asked the voice on the other end if he could speak to Ziggy Stardust.

"I'm sorry, sir," the receptionist said. "Ziggy Stardust isn't in yet."

Next Floyd tried the theater, but got the same response. He sat down in the one clean kitchen chair and held his head in his hands for a moment, anguished. It was clear- Ziggy was in danger, and Floyd had no way of warning him. Could those bastards from last night have done this on purpose? What if they had Ziggy now?

Floyd tried to calm himself down, but the worries overflowed in his mind. He felt like screaming. But screaming would do nothing to help him. Before he could begin truly panicking, Floyd jumped up and grabbed a dirty dishcloth. He soaked it under water from the tap and used it to wipe the lipstick off of the kitchen table. This act made Floyd feel a tiny bit more at ease. He began to clean the walls, and as he did so, his mind got clearer and clearer.

Once the main room was more or less in the same state Floyd had left it (the cocaine wasn't entirely cleaned off of the floor, but that couldn't be helped- where had Ziggy gotten so much of it?), the rational thought came to him, an idea that knocked Floyd over with its obviousness. _I should go to Ziggy's show tonight-_

He was out the door in an instant.

Down at the theater, Floyd was surprised to see how many fans were already crowded around the entrance, waiting for Ziggy. It was nowhere near showtime, was it? Floyd went to the ticket-seller, who explained to Floyd that all tickets were sold out and these people were trying to get them from scalpers.

Floyd stared. "But I really need to get in tonight!"

"Hey, don't lean on me, man, if you ain't got time to get it," the ticket seller said. "There's nothing I can do for you."

Floyd turned away, desperate. How was he to get into the theater and warn Ziggy now? He watched the crowd of fans walking around and muttering. Suddenly a cry rang out- "Ziggy Stardust tickets, right here!" The crowd surged and became a mob as they descended on the scalper, burying him beneath their bodies and screaming as they tore the tickets out of his hands. Their victim tried to scream, "Don't lean on me, man, if you ain't got the ticket!" but his voice was swiftly drowned out as the fans fell on each other, fighting brutally for the remaining tickets. Floyd had only ever seen such a violent crowd of music fans once. He shuddered. They reminded him exactly of his last concert as Pink Floyd.

As nine o'clock rolled around, fans who had stolen tickets rushed into the theater. Other fans tried to follow them, but were beaten back by the ones already inside. The doors swung shut, and the fans threw themselves at the doors, screaming Ziggy's name. From within, the music started up, and soon everyone was screaming and clawing at each other in efforts to get closer to the theater.

Floyd was torn between plunging into the fray and staying far away. But he had to warn Ziggy… he had to tell him that he was in danger… Within himself, Floyd felt something rise up that he'd tried so desperately to bury since the first time it had appeared in him. His mindset became one of a fascist dictator, looking out over his citizens- the fans- with an iron fist. He hurried forward, roaring, "STOP!" Everyone stared at him.

"We can't get in unless we work together!" Floyd bellowed. "On the count of three, everyone charge towards the doors! One- two-"

They didn't even wait for three, hurling themselves in a single wave towards the entrance. There were no security guards around to stop them. The fans tumbled in, Floyd buoyed along with them, and made for the stage, where Ziggy was singing his first song of the night. "ZIGGY STARDUST! ZIGGY STARDUST!"

In the morning after forming their big plan, the Spiders From Mars met again at Weird's apartment, where they worked out the finer points of their idea. After working it out, it was time to put the plan into motion. "Hit me," Weird said to Henry, tapping him on the chest.

Henry looked confused. "Huh?"

"Hit me," Weird said. "Haven't you wanted to hit me before in the past? I know I haven't been the nicest person in the world to you. Go on, beat me up."

Henry smiled, leaned in, and took his revenge. Weird said nothing during the ordeal, bearing the blows stoically. He then rushed to the bathroom, grinning as he looked in the mirror. "Perfect. Gilly, you have to beat Henry up now."

Gilly seemed a bit nervous. "Can't you do that? I mean, Henry's my friend and all…"

"I can't hit Henry, because Henry will want revenge again," Weird said. "You have to do this, Gilly."

Gilly took a deep breath. _It's all in the name of the plan. _He began to beat his best friend up, who cried out in pain. "Stop it, Gilly! Stop!"

"Now," Weird said when Gilly had finished and Henry was sulking in a corner, "I get to beat you up."

He came forward and lunged on Gilly, who moaned a few times but only really protested once. "Jeez, Weird, you didn't have to kick me right _there!" _Gilly howled, staggering backwards clutching his crotch. Weird shrugged. "I'm sorry, man." He waited for Gilly to straighten up before saying, "Now let's get going." The three men slipped knives inside their jackets and stuffed black masks in their pockets. They put on black gloves and walked outside together to hail a taxi.

The Spiders From Mars had spent the day together, as going to the studio would make their self-inflicted injuries obvious. They now headed off to the theater, where they would do Ziggy in once and for all. Instead of entering the building through the main way, they went in through the back, where hardly anyone ever went. The Spiders wandered through zigzagging corridors before finally ending up in their dressing room. There they stashed lengths of rope and cut up pieces of cloth soaked in chloroform. After a few minutes of relaxing, the band was set to go to Ziggy's dressing room in preparation for the show. They did their own makeup and then walked out the back exit of their dressing room, taking care not to let anyone see them along the way.

In Ziggy's dressing room, the Spiders were delighted to find that Ziggy was the only person there. "Hi hi hi, guys! Are y'all ready for _showtime?!" _he cried happily. The Spiders From Mars tried to hold back their snickers. "Yes, we're ready," Gilly said. "Did our own makeup, too," Henry added proudly.

"You _did? _Why, guys, I'm so proud of you!" Ziggy walked forward and peered into the faces of his bandmates. He frowned slightly. "Weird! You've got an unusual bruise!"

"It's a black eye," Weird said. "Parker gave it to me." He knew that whatever he told Ziggy wouldn't matter in a few minutes. Ziggy would be a dead man, telling no tales.

"Silly Billy," Ziggy laughed. "Hey, that rhymed! Silly Billy… Silly _Gilly!" _He poked the bassist in the arm, and the door opened. The Spiders From Mars instantly turned their backs.

"Speak of the devil…" Weird muttered.

"Billy!" Ziggy cried, leaping forward like a small child would towards his father. "So nice to see you!"

"Have a good show, Zig," Billy said. "Are the Spiders in here?"

"Yes, they're here," Ziggy said. "Whee! You needn't come in, Billy. I've got everything under control!"

"Sounds good to me." Billy departed, and the Spiders had to hold hands over their mouths to hide their ironic smiles.

In a few more minutes, it was showtime. Weird, Gilly, and Henry crept onstage and pulled the black masks onto their faces, shrouded in shadow. They began to play 'Space Oddity' for the very last time, trying not to giggle all the while.

If any of the fans in the audience had been more observant, they would have noticed the surprising lack of skin flashing in the spotlight, the comforting sight that assured them of the band's presence onstage. Wearing masks as they were, the Spiders From Mars now gave the impression that the instruments were being played by disembodied creatures. At least one person should have noticed this change, and been afraid. But the audience was made of teenage girls and boys who cared only for Ziggy, and of stoners who were too high to see anything different. The one person who did not fall into that category was storming the theater at that very moment.

While most of the ticket-less fans screamed and ran forward after breaking into the theater, Floyd only stopped in one place and gaped at the man onstage. It was Ziggy alright- there was no mistaking his red hair and white skin- but he looked worse for the wear. He was skinnier than Floyd had ever seen him, as if Floyd could snap him in one hand like a dead twig. His eyes rolled about as he sang, his mind anywhere but on the song. His voice was completely drowned out by the fans, and a crazed smile was pasted across his face.

_Oh, my love, _Floyd found himself thinking. _What happened to you? How have you fallen so far?_

At the song's dramatic ending, the lights began to flash in a strobe effect, leading the fans to cheer even louder. At that moment, Floyd realized that something was terribly wrong. He didn't know why he should feel that way. Was the danger about to befall Ziggy now?

And as he watched, three pieces of the backstage shadow melted away and came up to the front of the stage. Ziggy had his eyes closed, his body turned outward, receiving all of the fan's love. He was unaware when the three shadows- three men- attacked. They fell on him and whipped knives out of their jackets, knocking Ziggy to the ground. Their arms lifted and plunged into Ziggy's body. Ziggy let out a scream, and then began wailing as the men stabbed him again and again and again, with the final instrumentals of 'Space Oddity' still playing and the lights still strobing. Ziggy's wails grew loud enough to overpower the entire audience, whose screams of adoration had turned into screams of horror. One of the shadows bent over and took Ziggy's guitar, raising it high in the air. The other two bowed. "That's all, folks!" They spoke in unison, and in a flash, Floyd recognized their voices. _"Well the bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar… You're the blessed, we're the Spiders From Mars!" _The three men ran offstage, and the song ended, leaving behind stark silence that was filled up with the shocked cries of fans.

Floyd moved. Whereas all the other fans ran out of the theater, fearing for their lives, Floyd ran forward, towards Ziggy, who lay crumpled up onstage. He got to him before anyone else did, jumping up onstage and kneeling to take him in his arms. "Ziggy! Ziggy, are you all right? Can you hear me, Ziggy?"

Ziggy's eyes were open, but he didn't seem to see Floyd. He tried to move a hand, but it fell limply at his side. White blood was pouring out of his multiple stab wounds. Ziggy continued to stare at nothing, both of his eyes dilated with fear, matching for once. Floyd never forgot the utterly terrified look in those eyes, the terror of the unknown.

"_No-" _Ziggy choked, coughing around the blood in his mouth.

And then his eyes were closed, his head sinking back to meet the hard wood of the stage. Quickly, Floyd lifted the limp Ziggy into his arms and began running as fast as he could, out of the theater and down the street, away to the nearest hospital, the only one in Suffragette City.

After pulling off the deed that they had concocted together last night, Weird, Gilly, and Henry exited stage right, relishing the horrorstruck cries of the crowd. Weird had stolen Ziggy's guitar as a souvenir. They raced out the second exit in Ziggy's dressing room and sped through the hallways that were not occupied by people. Along the way, Weird stopped to store Ziggy's guitar in a place where no human would find it. Then the Spiders From Mars reentered their dressing room together, hurriedly pulling their masks and gloves off and wiping the makeup off their faces. They took the rope and cloths out from where they'd stashed them and quickly tied themselves up to chairs. Henry and Gilly wore the cloths tied around their mouths as gags, but Weird left his free to yell, "Help!" Eventually after a long while, the main exit door opened, and shocked faces stared in at the Spiders.

"What happened in here?" someone asked.

"Thank God you're here!" Weird cried, launching into his practiced speech. "There were three people, all dressed in black, who came in here. I couldn't tell if they were men or women or what, 'cause they had these black masks on…" As people rushed in to untie the Spiders, and to revive the unconscious Henry and Gilly, who had been knocked out with the chloroform-soaked gags, Weird tried to make his voice as distressed and convincing as possible. "I have no idea who they were! They tied us up and tried to knock us out with chloroform, but my gag wasn't tied on tightly enough…"

"Which way did they go?" a man asked.

Weird pointed with the hand that had just been freed. "Out that door. We've been in here for so long…"

"The show's been cancelled," someone else informed him, helping him up. Weird stretched, as if he'd been sitting in one place for a long time. "Is Ziggy okay?"

"Ziggy Stardust has been attacked," the man murmured. Weird's mouth fell open. "What happened?!"

Floyd's legs and arms were tired from running while carrying Ziggy, and his throat burned. Each breath came in a short gasp. Still Floyd went on, plowing passersby out of the way. If he had been able to speak, he wouldn't have left a word for those random people, instead saving all his breath for Ziggy.

_You're going to make it! You're going to make it make it make it_

Finally, the hospital was in sight. Floyd plunged across the street and ran as cars screeched to a halt and honked at him. He wasn't aware of their narrow misses. Instead, Floyd pushed through the glass doors of the hospital and ran to the receptionist, finding strength to yell, "Emergency!"

The receptionist stood up, her eyes widening as she took in the sight- Ziggy lying prone in Floyd's arms, his body punctured in several places, and Floyd panting hard, his clothes stained with white blood. "Wh-"

"The theater!" Floyd gasped. "Ziggy Stardust- stabbed onstage…" He forced himself not to collapse as paramedics rushed up, wheeling out a stretcher. Only when Ziggy was out of Floyd's arms did he lean against the counter, resting, and all the while calling after the paramedics, "He's not human! He has accelerated healing strength. Our medicine might affect him differently…"

"Why don't you sit down?" the receptionist asked. Floyd shook his head. "What's your name?"

"Floyd Pinkerton," Floyd blurted without thinking. Who cared who he was anymore? "That man- he's a singer, his name is Ziggy Stardust… he's been stabbed onstage. There were three men."

"I see," the woman said. "How are you related to him?"

"He's my roommate," Floyd said. "I- I need to…" He didn't know what he needed to do. He needed to talk to someone who was more in charge than this receptionist- a police officer, for example. And he needed to make sure Ziggy was alright. The latter was more pressing at the moment, so Floyd took a deep breath and took off in the direction that his friend had been wheeled away, without anyone trying to stop him.

All the doors looked the same. Where had the paramedics taken Ziggy? Floyd paused in the hallway, still trying to catch his breath. He backed up against the wall and closed his eyes, feeling his heart pounding out of panic. Ziggy had to be all right, hadn't he? He would heal himself from the stab wounds. In fact, Floyd was beginning to question why he had even taken Ziggy here. It must have slipped his mind about Ziggy's amazing strength. Sure, there had been a murder attempt (by who, Floyd didn't know or really want to think about), but Ziggy hadn't been murdered. _He's going to be fine he's going to be fine he's going to be fine_

Floyd sighed, trying to get a grip on himself, and opened his eyes. He supposed he better find a doctor and inform him of Ziggy's healing power. There was no use in waiting around- Ziggy was probably mostly cured by now. To those who weren't familiar with the process, it could be a bit disturbing.

Just as Floyd began to walk, he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Floyd turned- a nurse was walking towards him. "Sir, you shouldn't be back here-" Floyd opened his mouth to explain himself, but just then one of the doors in the hallway opened and a doctor came out, capturing Floyd's and the nurse's attention. The doctor appeared agitated as he walked up to them. "Are you the one that brought the patient Ziggy Stardust here?" he asked Floyd.

"Yes," Floyd said. "How is he?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "He's dead. I'm sorry."

For a moment Floyd was confused, and then he blurted, "Are you sure?"

The doctor gave him an odd look. "Of course. He was stabbed a total of twenty-three times…"

"In the heart?" Floyd asked, remembering that Ziggy had told him that Martians could only die if they were stabbed through the heart. _He's not dead he's not dead he's not dead… _There was no way it could be true.

"As a matter of fact, yes. He was stabbed once in the heart."

Floyd felt a bit dizzy all of a sudden. Wait… but that would mean…

"Can I see him?" he asked. Not _his body. _Floyd wouldn't believe the lie unless he saw for himself.

"I'm sorry- who are y-"

"I asked if I could see him!" Floyd snapped.

The doctor swallowed. "Well-"

"What are you _stalling _for?!" Floyd cried. "I'm his… I'm his friend. A very close… friend."

The doctor nodded wordlessly and pointed at the door. Floyd rushed towards it.

Inside, Ziggy was lying on a steel table. Paramedics moved around him, but Floyd pushed past them and touched Ziggy's shoulder. "Ziggy…" Ziggy's eyes were closed. Frantically, Floyd inspected his body with his eyes. He saw stab wounds all across his body, leaking white blood. A few were half-closed up with skin, desperately trying to grow over. Floyd's gaze traveled back up Ziggy's body, and stopped when he got to his chest. He reached out a hand to gingerly feel the wound, though paramedics tried to restrain him. Only when Floyd had touched the bloody wound in Ziggy's chest did he realize what the doctor said had been true.

_Oh Ziggy… oh my love…_

He was dead. The attackers had stabbed him twenty-three times, just like Julius Caesar, and one of the blows had pierced into his heart. Without the heart working, the blood could not flow, and as a result, it could not heal the wounds in Ziggy's body. He had died just as he'd been afraid of doing, alone as the last Martian on Earth. And the one person who could have prevented this- the one person who had come into contact with his killers and gotten an inkling of what they were going to do to him, the person who stood before his body now- had done nothing in the way of protecting him, even though he considered himself in love with him.

Hours passed. The apartment door opened. John looked up from the floor.

"Hello?" a man's voice rang out. He took a few steps. "Is anyone in here?"

Swiftly, John jumped up and ran, passing by the surprised man. He flew out into the hallway and pounded down the stairs, not stopping until he was outside. Pain was beginning to sweep over him, a result of using up the last of the heroin. John screamed, and people on the sidewalk stared at him. He needed to find Jimmy. That was it. Where the hell was St. Jimmy?

John set off on a mainly-fruitless search through Suffragette City, trying in vain to find the man that could supply his desperate needs. All throughout his search, the pain ravaged his body. John felt as if he was dying. He kept looking, far and wide, high and low, still without any sign of his savior. Finally, when John couldn't take it anymore, he collapsed on the ground, screaming and screaming for someone to stop the pain. It was killing him, he was sure of it. Death was finally coming like it came for his father…

All of a sudden, a shadow fell over him. John was too tortured to properly see who it was, but a voice spoke. "Who's laughing now?"

John could barely speak for the pain, but he managed to shriek, "You fucking bastard, Jimmy!"

"What did I do?" St. Jimmy asked innocently.

"You're not fucking real! Why didn't you tell me you weren't real?!"

"I am as real as you are," Jimmy said. "In your mind, anyway."

Suddenly John found himself standing, staring into St. Jimmy's eyes. He felt that somewhere his body lay on the ground, but right now he was strong, tall, and seething with anger. He rushed towards Jimmy, but the young man grabbed his arms and locked them behind his back. "Ooh, so the Jesus of Suburbia is fighting back now," Jimmy whispered in John's ear with the hint of a laugh.

"Shut up!" John struggled in Jimmy's grip. "I'm not the Jesus of Suburbia!" He finally managed to break free and dash away, making to block Jimmy's punches. But St. Jimmy just stood there, staring at John with an expression of pity and anger.

"I brought you to this city. I introduced you to a new way of life. And you thank me by running off with a woman, and then come crying to me when she breaks your heart like I warned you she would? And now you're telling me I'm not real. As if all of this was a lie!"

"You don't exist!" John shouted nonetheless. "She… she told me…"

"Who?" Jimmy snorted. "Look at that. You can't even remember her name!"

John glared, not wanting St. Jimmy to remind him of that. "Shut up! You don't exist. You're just a figment of my broken mind. You were born from my father's rage and my mother's love. You're not real to me anymore."

Jimmy lunged forward, and John met him with his fists. They wrestled for a while, throwing punches and blocking other blows, before John was sent crashing to the ground. Jimmy pinned him down with his foot in his chest, his eyes smoldering.

"You're just an American idiot, that's what you are." He stepped back, and John struggled to sit up, but he could feel himself slowly rejoining his body. The pain was returning, as if the Novocaine was wearing off. John lay helpless on the ground, and as he tried to watch Jimmy, a flash of silver glowed in the streetlights. Jimmy whipped out a pistol and pressed it to his head. John wanted to cry out- _No- _but he only watched as the trigger was pulled and St. Jimmy slumped onto the sidewalk, no more.


	26. Back From Suffragette City

Chapter Twenty-Five: _Back From Suffragette City_

Floyd left the hospital as quickly as he could. The murder had been witnessed by plenty of fans. They could help spot the killer just as well as Floyd could. Or so he told himself. He knew that the police would need the valuable information he could provide- information that hinted to the identities of the three assailants. But Floyd couldn't risk his own identity. He'd been foolish enough to give his real name to the receptionist, and once it was figured out who he really was, this entire affair would expand monstrously into something far bigger than it was. So Floyd escaped from the hospital and walked all the way back to the apartment that until today, he had shared with the singer known as Ziggy Stardust. His mind and body were on autopilot. Nothing felt real to Floyd anymore.

Back at the penthouse, Floyd numbly packed up his scarce belongings. He then entered Ziggy's room and scanned the mess with his eyes. One object stuck out at him- the leather-bound notebook on the bed. Floyd packed it up in his bag, picked up Ziggy's acoustic guitar along the way, and left the apartment, locking the door behind him and throwing away the key.

He had to get out of Suffragette City. He had to get home. Floyd made the necessary arrangements for moving out- he emptied his account at the bank and closed it, and sent a letter of resignation to the coffeehouse- and then walked into the street to hail a taxi.

"Where are you going?" the driver asked.

"Take me out of town," Floyd said huskily. "Take me to the nearest city that isn't here. Please."

The driver started to protest, but Floyd showed him the amount of cash he had just drawn out of his bank account, and that made him readily agree to the task.

The next leg of Floyd's journey was a blur. Floyd told the driver he would pay him extra for the trip if the city he dropped him off at had a working airport. They drove through the night and into morning on the remaining gas in the taxi's tank. Just as it was running on empty, Floyd spotted tall city buildings out the window. An hour later, he was wandering the streets of a new city- who even cared where he was anymore- with just enough money in his pockets to buy a plane ticket back to England. He only hoped there was enough fuel for the plane to not crash. Not that he really cared.

Late in the evening, a doorbell rang at the abode of Audrey and Eva Pinkerton. Audrey got up to answer it, wondering who would be paying them a visit at this time. When the door was opened, she screamed. "Floyd!"

Floyd stepped through the door and allowed himself to be hugged by his wife. He barely felt her touch; his mind was miles away. Audrey stepped back, smiling at Floyd, her hands wrapping around his neck. Floyd blinked at her. What was he to say? After months of longing for Audrey to be with him, what could he possibly say now that she was finally here?

"I'm exhausted," he mumbled, slipping out of her grasp. Audrey's smile disappeared. "Where's Eva?"

"Upstairs," Audrey said, trying not to show the hurt on her face. She didn't do a very good job of it, but Floyd seemed beyond noticing.

"I'm going to bed," Floyd said. He took his bag and lugged it up the stairs to the bedroom. Audrey could only stare after him in shock, pain, and fear. What had happened to her husband? What was wrong?

In the morning, Audrey woke up with Floyd's back to her. She got out of bed and kissed his neck. He barely stirred.

"I'm going to get Eva up," Audrey murmured to Floyd. He said nothing. She couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. Undeterred, Audrey dressed for the day and went out the door.

"Eva?" Audrey called, entering her daughter's room. Eva was asleep just like her father. Audrey sat down on her bed and stroked her cheek. "Eva, honey, wake up. There's someone here who wants to see you."

Eva opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and yawned. "Who is it, Mummy?"

"Someone very special," Audrey said, lifting Eva out of bed. She instantly came to life, smiling and wriggling out of Audrey's grip. "Is it Ziggy?"

"N- no," Audrey said, suddenly wondering where in fact Ziggy was. Had he gone back to London, or was he still in America? "It's someone even better than that."

Eva squealed loudly. "Is it Daddy?!"

Audrey smiled, though inside she prayed to God that Floyd would be ready to receive his daughter. "Come with me." She took the child down the hall and into her parents' bedroom, where Floyd was still asleep. At the first sight of him, Eva ran up. "Daddy!" She hopped onto the bed and touched his face as if making sure he was real. Floyd's eyes opened, and he stared at Eva with a shocked smile on his face. Audrey let her breath out.

"Eva?" Floyd sat up in bed, unable to believe it. Eva jumped into his arms. As she hugged him, Floyd realized that this was not a dream. He was home!

"Eva!" Floyd cuddled his daughter gently, wondering how in the world he had gotten here safely, how he had gotten out of Suffragette City. And where was Au-

From across the room, Audrey walked forward, a tentative smile on her face. And in that moment, Floyd remembered everything.

_He's dead he's dead he's dead he's dead_

Floyd's eyes glazed over, his smile vanishing. He forgot that Eva was in his arms, didn't feel her tugging on his clothing or hear her saying "Daddy?" over and over. He was slightly roused when Audrey pulled her away, and called out, "Hey!" Audrey turned. "Why are you taking her away from me?"

Audrey had watched with horror as Floyd's face had drained of color, his eyes taking on a wounded look. He looked just like he had when he was Pink, six years ago. Hurriedly, Audrey had bustled Eva off the bed, and now Floyd was protesting.

"I want to see Daddy!" Eva yelled.

Audrey shook her head at Floyd. "I can't let you see her yet."

"Why?" Floyd asked. "By God, I'm her father, Audrey!"

"I won't let you until you tell me what's wrong!" Audrey said. She tugged Eva out the door.

"No…" Floyd tried to stand up, his head swimming. Just like that, his dream had turned into a nightmare. "Don't go, Audrey… Don't leave me like _he _did!" he shouted as Audrey left the room, Eva in her arms yelling all the way.

Alone, Floyd suddenly felt it all come back to him- the comfortable numbness of last night, when his mind was on autopilot. He didn't want to remember these things now. He didn't want to remember them ever. Ziggy was alive and the past seventy-two hours hadn't happened. This was all a dream that Floyd would soon wake up from.

Ages later, Audrey reentered the room and shut the door. "Floyd," she murmured softly, coming up to him. "Is anything wrong?"

Floyd said nothing. He sat down hard on the bed. Audrey pulled up a chair and faced him with a look of worry in her eyes.

"Why won't you talk to me? Last night you came in and said nothing of where you'd been, how you got here… You were the person I was least expecting to see, and you didn't explain your reason for coming back. Of course I'm overjoyed that you're here, but not if you're going to be like this, Floyd. Not if you're going to be like Pink."

Floyd shuddered briefly, but the name no longer cut him like a knife as it once had. He felt a much, much deeper pain inside his soul now. Still Floyd said nothing, looking past Audrey to an invisible spot on the wall.

"Please talk to me," Audrey whispered. She reached out to take his hand, but Floyd moved it away at the last minute. His eyes were bleak, soulless, and cold.

Together they waited- Audrey for Floyd to say something and Floyd for Audrey to give up. Finally five words slipped into the air.

"I want to kill myself."

Audrey's face moved from an expression of worry to one of shock to one of grief to one of composure in a matter of seconds.

"Why?" she asked.

Floyd looked down at his hands, and then into Audrey's eyes for the first time since he'd come back.

"Because I was in love with Ziggy," he said. "And he's dead."

There was another moment of silence, and then, with a deep sigh, Floyd explained everything.

He explained how he had unexpectedly fallen in love with Ziggy while on the journey to Suffragette City. How he had watched him throw his life away for the sake of drugs and sex, and how he had done nothing to stop it. He hadn't even comforted or helped Ziggy when he needed it the most. Floyd related how in the end, he had just given up on trying to save Ziggy from himself. And abruptly, the danger had stopped coming from himself after all, and from outside forces instead. Floyd told Audrey how he had been kidnapped by three men, whom he was now certain were Ziggy's three bandmates, the Spiders From Mars, and how they had held him hostage in an apartment and threatened him to keep this a secret, or else they'd reveal to the population of Suffragette City that Pink Floyd, ex rock star, was living here in America. He described how he had tried to contact Ziggy, but gave up after the third attempt. He had broken into the show just to watch Ziggy get murdered. After that there was nothing left worth doing in Suffragette City, and Floyd was afraid for himself, so he had left as soon as he could.

"All that so-called compassion I had for Ziggy," Floyd murmured, "and it went out the window as soon as his life was threatened. I could have saved him, Audrey! I could have let the police know everything…"

Audrey, who had been sitting and listening rather rapturously to this tale, broke in now with, "You couldn't have told them anything of use. You had no idea who those people were."

"But I could have saved him," Floyd repeated. "I could have… I could have gotten more security for the theater if I told the police… _I could have saved him, Audrey."_

"What has this got to do with killing yourself?" Audrey asked gently.

Floyd looked her in the eye, his face a mixture of pain and anger. "I don't deserve or want to live anymore! Not after the man I loved, or said I loved, has died… Not when I could have prevented his death… I can't live knowing what I've done, and I can't live without him."

Audrey just looked at him. Suddenly it dawned on Floyd what exactly he had said.

"Oh, Audrey…" he whispered. "Forgive me. Forgive me! Forgive me…" It seemed to be the only thing he could say.

"I do," Audrey murmured.

"But how could you?" Floyd burst out. "I was in love with another man! A man who wasn't even human! I had explicit sexual dreams about him! All while I'm married to _you!"_

"I forgive you," Audrey said.

"How?" Floyd repeated, anguished.

In response, Audrey stood up and leaned forward, kissing Floyd on the lips. He hesitated before kissing back, and suddenly couldn't stop. God, how he'd missed Audrey. God, how he'd been led so far astray by Ziggy. But it was undeniable- Floyd had been in love with Ziggy, and in love with Audrey at the same time. If Ziggy was still alive, he would still be in that situation. But Ziggy was dead.

Audrey broke away, and Floyd touched her hand. They stared at each other, and tears filled Floyd's eyes, tears that he angrily tried to force back.

"I don't deserve this," he said. "You should be angry at me. For God's sake, Audrey, you shouldn't still be in love with me anymore!"

"If you'd cheated on me with Ziggy, I would still be in love with you," Audrey said. "Just like when you cheated on me with those groupies, years ago. I loved you then, and I love you now. Nothing can ever change that."

"But…" Floyd whispered, not even flinching at the mention of his past. "I didn't love _them… _I _loved_ him."

"Love is a flexible thing," Audrey said, rubbing the back of Floyd's hand. "Think of how many people you love or have loved in the past. Think of how many people love you."

"Not in the way I love you, though," Floyd said.

"Of course not. You're married to me. Therefore, you're in love with me. You were not married to Ziggy, but you spent a lot of time with him when I wasn't there. He was a close friend of yours. Therefore, you loved him. And you fell in love with him like you fell in love with me. And I don't have a problem with that."

Floyd breathed in quickly through his nose, trying to stop the stupid tears from escaping. "Audrey. If I loved him as much as I thought I did, I would have made more of an effort to stop him from being killed."

Audrey closed her hands around Floyd's. She watched him blink and shudder for a long while. Then, staring into his eyes, she spoke the words that could mend everything.

"It's not your fault. Don't blame yourself. No matter what happened, I still love you."

Floyd let out a sob, which quickly degenerated into full-out weeping. He leaned forward and grabbed Audrey, pulling her close to his body as if trying to absorb her. Audrey let Floyd sob into her chest for a long time, during which she stroked his hair and neck. "It's all right, love. It's all right."

"Audrey…" Floyd moaned. "Audrey… I- I… I love you…"

"I know you do," Audrey murmured. "I love you too. Sssh. It's all right. It's all right."

Floyd tugged Audrey onto the bed and lay down beside her, his arms tight around her, crying and kissing her all over. Audrey lay still as Floyd undressed her. She wouldn't deny him in his time of need. If it made Floyd feel better, she would give her body to him.

They made love viscerally, grief leaking out of all of Floyd's pores. With each movement, he seemed to be giving up a piece of his broken heart for Audrey to take into her body. Audrey accepted the pieces, longing to fit them together again. In times like these, the Pinkertons were not just one body- they were also one soul, sharing the other's grief or joy, bonded in the way Martian couples would be for life. When it was over, Floyd felt physically and emotionally drained. He hugged Audrey close, and she kissed his wet cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Floyd whispered.

"Don't be," Audrey murmured, running her hand down his back.

Floyd closed his eyes and gave Audrey one final kiss before pulling away. She got up and began to dress again.

"I'll go get Eva," Audrey said. "She must be feeling neglected."

"I think I'm ready to see her," Floyd said, his eyes still closed.

Audrey looked at him. "Are you sure? You know you don't have to downplay your pain for me…"

"Audrey, you should know this already," Floyd said. "The only way I can recover is assimilating back into normal life. I need Eva, and I need you."

Audrey nodded. "All right. But if you ever feel like killing yourself again…"

"I'll talk to you, Audrey," Floyd said. "You're so good at using common sense. I'll never understand."

Audrey smiled sadly. "You were never one for common sense, Floyd."

He got up and dressed, and as he did so, Audrey asked the question that she had been wondering ever since Floyd had told his story. "How are we going to tell Eva about Ziggy's death?"

"Leave it to me," Floyd said.

Floyd spent the rest of the day with Eva, who was more than overjoyed to have her father back with her. He found it surprisingly easy to get used to this way of life again. Hadn't he been doing this for five years already, before Ziggy came along and screwed everything up?

The Starman had landed in August. Now it was December. Roughly five months had passed since Floyd had met the man he grew to love, and during that time, his life had changed in so many ways. Now that Ziggy was dead, it appeared things would go back to normal. The Earth would still be dying in five years, and Audrey would still be in love with Floyd, ready for a talk or a bout of lovemaking any time Floyd needed her. Eva would still be around to amaze Floyd and give him a purpose in life. There were five, soon to be four, years left for things to resettle in the way they belonged, as if the beautiful, enigmatic man known as Ziggy Stardust hadn't even walked the Earth.

Now and then Floyd would get lost in a daze, thinking suddenly of Ziggy and his death- it still didn't quite feel real. Eva would ask "What's wrong, Daddy?" and Floyd could give no answer. He realized that it had probably not been the best idea to keep Eva sheltered all her life. She was five years old now and knew nothing of the concept of death, among other things. Audrey had nearly explained it to her when Floyd was missing, but his letter had arrived soon enough. Now was the time to break the news- Ziggy would never be coming back to see Eva.

In the evening, Floyd took Eva outside and caught fireflies with her. They played tag in the dark, and fell exhausted onto the grass, laughing and panting after chasing each other. When Eva had quieted, Floyd pointed to the clear night sky.

"Look, Eva. Look at all the stars. How many do you think there are?"

"One hundred?" Eva said, an innocent answer in her mind. One hundred was the biggest number she knew.

Floyd laughed. "More like one thousand! Can you count them all for me?"

Eva squinted at the sky. "One, two, three… four, five… six…"

"See that one up there?" Floyd said, pointing. "That's called the North Star. If you're ever lost, all you have to do is look up at the sky and find that star, and you'll know where you are. It's the brightest one in the sky."

"Is that where Ziggy is from?" Eva asked.

A crippling pain went through Floyd at the mention of Ziggy's name. "No, love. Ziggy w- Ziggy's from Mars."

"He told me a story once," Eva said. "He said there was a man who lived in the stars, and his name was Ziggy Stardust."

"That's a lovely story," Floyd said quietly.

"Where is Ziggy?" Eva asked.

Floyd took a deep breath and squeezed Eva's hand. "Eva…" It was hard to get the words out. "Ziggy's never coming back."

"Is he in America?" Eva asked.

_Yes, _Floyd was tempted to say, but he told the brutal truth instead.

"No, love. Ziggy is dead. He's not on Earth anymore."

Confused, Eva stated, "Dead?"

"Yes." Floyd spoke soothingly. "Ziggy died in America. When someone dies, it means their body can't work anymore. It shuts down, as if they're asleep. But they never wake up."

"Ziggy… is… dead?" Eva asked, refusing to believe it.

"Yes," Floyd said. He hugged Eva. "I'm sorry."

For a moment there was nothing, and then Eva began to sob. "I… love… Ziggy…"

"I know," Floyd whispered, holding his daughter tight. "I know… I did too." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry, Eva. I'm so sorry."

Eva continued to cry for a while longer. Floyd stroked her back, saying nothing. Finally, when Eva was all cried out, he turned her to face the stars again.

"Look up," Floyd instructed. "Look at the stars."

"I don't want to," Eva whispered.

"Look," Floyd said anyway. "You see the stars? They're not just bright lights in the sky."

"What… are… they?" Eva whimpered.

"They're souls," Floyd said. "Do you know what a soul is, Eva? A soul is a part of the body that can never die. A soul is made of energy, and energy can never be taken away. It just goes to another place. When our bodies die and we go to sleep forever, our souls live on. They become the stars in the sky."

Eva said nothing, before asking, "Is Ziggy's soul up there?"

"Yes," Floyd said. "Ziggy may be gone from Earth, but he's not gone from your heart. When night falls, look for his soul in the sky. As long as you remember him, Ziggy will stay alive."

"Where?" Eva asked, looking at the sky. Tears gleamed on her face.

"Anywhere," Floyd said. "Any of those souls could be Ziggy's. One of them is your grandmother's, and one of them is your grandfather's. In five years, our souls will be in the sky too. But you musn't be afraid of it. There is nothing in death to be afraid of. Our bodies will die, but our souls will live forever."

Eva turned and buried her face in Floyd's chest, wrapping her arms around him. Floyd stroked her hair softly, blinking back tears in his own eyes.

"I love you, Eva. I love you very much."


	27. You're A Rock And Roll Suicide

Chapter Twenty-Six:_ You're A Rock And Roll Suicide_

In a day or two, the full story hit the papers. "SUPERSTAR MUSICIAN ZIGGY STARDUST MURDERED IN AMERICA BY UNKNOWN PERSONS," the headlines read. Audrey bought a newspaper in town and took it home so that she and Floyd could examine it. They both agreed that this was an aspect of Ziggy's death that Eva didn't need to know about.

To Floyd's surprise, the Spiders From Mars were on the front page, but there was no mention of them being suspects. Instead, there were several quotes from Mick Weird, the keyboardist in Ziggy's band, mourning over Ziggy's untimely death- "He took it all too far, but boy, could he play guitar." Drummer Mick Henry (another Mick; Floyd wondered briefly if this could be the Henry Ziggy had referred to in the last words he'd spoken to Floyd) was quoted as saying, "I still can't believe that it happened. Who would do such a thing?" and bassist Trevor Gilly added, "This man didn't deserve to die. It was far too soon. Whoever did this should be sent to prison for life."

Weird then took over the rest of the article. "I personally believe that the sick, twisted people who murdered Stardust were either groupies that he had slighted, or fans driven out of their minds with lust. Either way, there's no denying that when the kids had killed the man, I had to break up the band. We were Ziggy's band, through and through, and there's no point in going on without him. The Spiders From Mars are no more."

"What a load of bullshit," Floyd said, staring at the photos of Ziggy spread across the front page of the newspaper. Words of praise jumped out at him- _dazzling, eccentric, groundbreaking, exotic. _Ziggy had been all of these things, and much more. And yet Floyd had a feeling that he would only be remembered by Weird's epitaph- "He took it all too far, but boy, could he play guitar." That was all Ziggy would ever be to this final generation. He was nothing but a rock star who believed he could save the world through song, and let fame go to his head just like the many rock stars before him. Just like Pink Floyd.

Four months ago, it nearly physically pained Floyd to have to remember his life as a rock star, especially the date of November 30th, 1980, and the events leading up to it. The memories had haunted his dreams every night, and he would occasionally spend time out of the day trying not to be reminded of it- something that had only worsened since Ziggy came to Earth and during his resulting odyssey through America.

Now, however, Floyd couldn't give a damn about his far-off past. The dreams that now came at night scratched at fresh wounds, causing mental scabs to fall off and blood to seep into his soul. Sometimes Floyd relived the moment of Ziggy's death, from the point where he saw him fall to the floor to the moment where he touched Ziggy's chest wound and realized that he was never coming back to life. Those parts were bad enough, but it nearly killed Floyd to have them followed by the more cheerful times with Ziggy- their good-natured bantering over the bed issue during their time with the gang, the heart-to-heart conversation they'd had on the roof of the hotel in Suffragette City, watching Ziggy's performance in London and later in Bath, the "Who's Got The Bigger Dick" contest (although that one was more likely to embarrass Floyd than anything else), spray-painting on a crumbled brick wall together… Even Ziggy's memories became Floyd's memories as he dreamed from Ziggy's point of view, seeing the free festival on Mars where Ziggy had seen Venusians and gotten inspiration for his most moving song, and the fateful day on Earth when it had been revealed that there were only five years left to cry in. The dream always finished with a hard punch in the gut- Floyd watching Ziggy crumble and dissolve before his eyes, turning into the stereotypical stoned, sexed up rock star that Floyd had wanted so desperately to prevent him from becoming, and Floyd not doing a thing about it. It all culminated in Floyd hearing sobs coming from Ziggy's room and walking right past the door. _Why the hell had he walked past the door? _He should have gone in and comforted Ziggy. He should have forced him to get clean… maybe Ziggy would have listened then when Floyd tried to warn him that his Spiders, or whoever those men had been, were planning on killing him.

After waking up from this dream sent from hell, Floyd couldn't hide from Audrey anymore. The first time it happened, his scream woke her up in terror. "What's happened? Floyd? Are you all right?" She laid her hands on his body as he shivered, tears running down his face. "What is it?"

"I had a bad dream," Floyd muttered, clutching Audrey to himself. "Oh, Audrey…" She held him for a long time until the tears stopped, the shivers subsided, and Floyd fell unhappily into sleep.

In the morning, Floyd explained to Audrey that he'd had nightmares nearly every night of his life. This was nothing new to him, but it was to Audrey, who had never been aware of his fears. She asked Floyd what the dreams were about, but he didn't say anything about the old dreams, only that his dream last night had been about Ziggy's death. Audrey could only respond with, "Don't hide this from me anymore, Floyd."

Privately, Audrey wasn't sure what to think about Floyd's supposed fixation with the late Ziggy Stardust. She knew that plenty of men had fallen in love with him, but Floyd was married and a self-professed heterosexual. Had he fallen in love with Ziggy only because Audrey wasn't around? Or had he really been in love with the Martian?

However the manner Floyd had loved Ziggy, Audrey thought it best not to bring it up again. She was ready to help Floyd through his time of grief, just as she had done for him five years ago. Whatever her opinion of Floyd's love of Ziggy, it would stay buried inside of her, as she couldn't possibly know everything that went on Floyd's mind.

A few days after Floyd's bittersweet homecoming, he retrieved an important item from his suitcase while Audrey was giving Eva her daily lesson. This item was the leather-bound notebook that had mysteriously turned up in Ziggy's room on the day of his murder. Floyd sat down on his bed, his heart pounding. He opened it up, half-hoping that he would find blank pages and maybe some scribbled lyrics here and there, nothing more. Instead, the pages were lined with text, written in a handsome script that Floyd presumed was Ziggy's handwriting.

_October 2__nd__, 1986 (Earth years)_

_Hello to whoever is reading this, besides myself of course,_

_My name is Ziggy Stardust. I come from the planet that humans (the inhabitants of Earth, and the species of the person who is most likely reading this besides me) call Mars, the fourth planet in what they call the Milky Way Galaxy, directly after Earth and the last planet before the asteroid belt. I am the only Martian that I know of left living, and I have come to Earth to try and pull off a feat which was deemed impossible on my home planet:_

_I am here to save the Earth. _

_Humans have been living on this planet for over a million years, roughly the same age as me (though I stopped counting once I hit one million. We Martians, as humans would call us, can live for years without our bodies wearing out, thanks to a miraculous (or so it would seem to humans) healing power in our blood.). God, I can't believe I just wrote all of that out… Anyway, my point is this- I am the only person on the planet Earth that I know of who has any insight into the destruction that is going to befall this planet in five years, just as it befell my own beloved Mars. It is my intention to single-handedly save the Earth through a plan I have devised, and at the same time, I have to admit, allow- or rather make!- every human on Earth fall in love with me._

_How, you nonexistent reader asks, am I going to set about achieving such a mighty task? (Damn, do I sound pretentious right now!) Let me explain- I have laid a plan which just might work. The first step was coming to Earth, which I executed not so gracefully, shall we say… but at least I got here! The second step came to me after I saw a musical concert performed- so different from our Martian concerts, but I loved it just as much… The band was phenomenal. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Fantastic night… Anyway (good God, someone stop me rambling!), I decided to become a musician myself. So far so good. Through many unusual incidents, I have now come to the place to find fame and fortune- Suffragette City, on the East Coast of America. Today I got a record deal, and tomorrow I will begin recording my music again. Already I am quite popular in Britain, though until today (or perhaps tomorrow?), the population believed I was dead._

_With hope, the third step of the plan is to get everyone on Earth to listen to my music and become fans. After that, I will have gained the trust of the government. And then, we can work together on developing an escape plan from Earth before the five years are up- me with my limited knowledge of Martian crafts (which I had to learn about, being stuck in one for a million years!) and they with their knowledge of everything else. If all goes well, Earth will not perish._

_I now keep this diary as a record of my time spent among humans. Really, I should have done something like this sooner… Anyway, that's all for one day. Consider this an entry an introduction. Tomorrow I will do away with formalities and addressing an unknown reader, as I'm fairly sure that no one will ever read this but me, or maybe Floyd if he goes snooping around in my bedroom for some reason (Floyd is my roommate and friend), or of course, anyone else if this diary falls into the wrong hands, which I sure as hell wouldn't like to happen._

_Well… goodnight for now!_

_Ziggy Stardust- the Starman waiting in the sky and the man who sold the world_

As Floyd finished reading this introduction to Ziggy's diary, he found it hard to breathe for a moment. The insight into Ziggy's mind brought back everything painful about their time spent together. Though it hurt to remember, Floyd couldn't help shaking his head as he reread the passages. Same old Ziggy…

Floyd smuggled the diary out of the house and hid it in the shed, where neither Audrey nor Eva ever went. The next day, he told Audrey that if she needed him, he would be in the shed, convinced her that he wasn't going to cause any harm to himself when he was out of her sight, and then dashed off to continue reading Ziggy's diary. In the days that followed, Floyd read avidly through the diary, hearing Ziggy muse on his old life, his new life, and everything in between that came into his mind.

There were plenty of mentions of Floyd in the diary, but not many. _I met Floyd when I came to Earth, _Ziggy explained in one of his earlier entries. _He lives in Somerset, in England. I loved living with his family because they were all very nice people. Floyd's wife, Audrey, is one of the sweetest human women I have met on Earth, and their daughter Eva is quite charming. As for Floyd himself, he is a great friend of mine, and without him I probably wouldn't have been able to go on in America. He carries a lot of emotional baggage with him, just like I do. He used to be a rock star, like I am now. We are surprisingly similar in more than a few ways._

There were a few more brief mentions, one of the "Who's Got The Bigger Dick" contest and one of how Floyd had gotten a job at the coffeehouse and was calling himself John Andrews now, and one last off-handed speculation- _It must be placing a lot of stress on Floyd to keep his identity a secret from everyone here in America. No wonder he's always so serious. I wonder how likely it is for him to get recognized…?_ For the most part, though, Floyd's name was absent from the pages of Ziggy's diary. Floyd supposed that was fine with him.

The stories of Ziggy's life on Mars were far more fascinating, anyway. Ziggy had never been very open with Floyd about Mars. He had described his last days left on the planet in vivid detail and briefly mentioned a free festival, but Floyd had no clear idea of what living on Mars had really been like for Ziggy, until now. Even in his diary, Ziggy didn't like to talk about his home planet very much, but one diary entry opened with, _I dreamed a dream of you last night, not for the first time._

_As usual, it was a memory-dream, in that I dreamed of something that actually happened. I dreamed of the many times we spent alone together. I can still remember- well, of course I can, we Martians have perfect memories- the way your eyes shone in the last of the dying sun, when we met on that hill and lay down together. I thought I'd never see you again, but in a few months we had accidentally met in public and started to talk. That was the beginning of the one time I thought I had love in my life. God, how I miss you, even after all these years._

_Falling in love is not something you get over quickly, especially if your partner has died. I dreamed last night of the wind stirring your blonde hair; I woke and I could still feel it on my cheeks. I dreamed of your lips pressed to mine; the scent still lingers now, the scent of ginger mixed with what Floyd calls citronella. You tasted sweet, like the way hyacinths smell. No other woman could compare to you. _

_I don't have these dreams often. I do dream a lot at night, but the memories aren't always that pleasant. I'd rather have you fill my mind than the blood-red rain. Anyway, I only dream when I sleep, and I don't sleep very much (although things have gotten a bit better on that front since I came to Suffragette City, and certainly since I came to Earth. Insomnia used to keep me up for long periods of time when I was in outer space, so that I only got an hour or so of sleep every night. Thankfully, I've slept better on Earth than I did in space, but still not very well. Memories keep me up, for one, and for another, I am a VERY light sleeper.). _

_Tomorrow the Spiders and I are going to perform our first show. I hope this dream of you was a good omen for that… I have no idea how Americans will react to my music. I do hope that they love it, and me._

Floyd wondered who this elusive woman was that Ziggy had mentioned. A wistful feeling stirred in him, to be snuffed out as he turned the page.

October 23rd, 1986 (Earth years)

_Oh my God!_

_That's all I can say at the moment. Great God, that was a wild night! I'm speechless! _

_Our first concert in Suffragette City was last night, and it went off well. I'm very pleased. But that's not why I'm speechless. I'm speechless because I have just woken up from the best night of lovemaking I have ever had in my life. A woman presented herself to me after last night's show and I took her home. And we did some wild things together._

_I never knew there were different kinds of sex. I've always ever had intercourse and anal sex. But apparently there's something called a "blowjob" that humans practice, and it's quite simple- they use their mouth to stimulate others. I never dreamed of how potent the tongue can be in lovemaking! It was the best thing I've ever felt, and the perfect way to end my forced celibacy. She also gave me a substance that resembled powdered sugar that one inhales through their nose, called "coke" (is that how you spell it?)… I have no idea what this "coke" was. But it did an odd thing to my memory. For the first time in my life, I can't remember last night very well. Not only that, but it also made me feel… I can't describe it. God. I felt WONDERFUL. Better than I have in a LONG time._

_She gave me a number to call to obtain more "coke." I think I'll have to do that, right away. I want more of that stuff, it just made me feel so good. Best night ever._

That was all Floyd read that day. He felt a sneaking sense of dread as he put the diary away and got up to leave the shed. _Maybe I should quit while Ziggy's ahead… _But he knew he would keep reading tomorrow, just to see what exactly had happened to Ziggy after he became addicted to cocaine.

The next day, Floyd read through the following entries, which grew more and more bizarre as he went along. Most were descriptions of the shows and sex, and a few proclamations against Floyd- _How DARE he tell me what to do?- _and all of them increased in nonsensicality as Ziggy's drug addiction furthered. There were only three coherent entries left, and the first one broke Floyd's heart as he read it.

_November 18__th__, 1986 (Earth years)_

_I cried for about an hour last night before falling asleep. It was a terrible time. Floyd and I had a conversation when I came home last night- I didn't pick up a girl or a guy. I wasn't in the mood. Anyway, I almost cried in front of him too… We talked about death, and about my addiction- yes, that's the proper word- to cocaine. I didn't realize until yesterday that it had become so serious a thing… I only took it to feel good, which I hadn't been feeling much of lately. I didn't know it would actually make me feel worse, when it wore off especially._

_I guess last night I was overcome by the sort of depression that all members of my species have, in varying forms. I never quite knew what to call it- the doctors claimed it was some kind of bipolar disorder, but it always just felt like depression to me. Mine has gotten especially worse since I left Mars, for obvious reasons. For one, I can't take any medicine for it now, as I'm afraid of the effects that human medicine might have on me (recreational drugs, like cocaine- who even knew you could take drugs for recreational purposes?- affect me more strongly than they would affect humans, or so I've heard). I've always believed that the reason Martians are designed to live so long is that we all develop this depression, which forces us to kill ourselves. But that's just a theory. Suicide is definitely not a shocking thing on Mars. So I always thought I could handle death, especially after seeing everyone on Mars die… But I've got to say, I'm scared right down to my bones when I think of it. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die._

_I told Floyd about my blood's healing power last night. I don't know exactly why I told him- I guess it was a weak moment. But what good would it do for him to know? He said I'm not going to die for a long time, unless I keep taking cocaine. I don't know what to think anymore. At one point, I am terribly afraid of dying. But at another point, I sometimes wish I could just give up on this life. It's not worth it anymore…_

_My blood would probably be useless now anyway, polluted with cocaine…_

_I have a feeling that Suffragette City will be the death of me. I guess I always believed, in the back of my mind, that this trip to America would prove fatal… I don't know why I think this, but I can't see my life advancing in any way from here on out. Anyway, if it does happen, I would like to be buried on Mars. I know it's impossible, but I just want to lay my body down with the remains of my planet and the remains of my people, who died long before me. I don't think my soul will ever be at rest if I'm buried here on Earth._

_God, I don't want to die…_

_I feel awful. I'll go take some coke._

The following pages were full of chickenscratch, but one of the last few pages was written in clear words. Heart pounding, Floyd turned to the second-to-last entry and read the heartbreaking account of Ziggy's last night on Earth.

_November 28__th__, 1986 (Earth years)_

_It's nighttime and I guess I'm lucid for once, for the time being. I just woke up- it's dark here in my room. I'm writing this by the light of the lamp on the floor next to me. I had to move down here because I didn't want to wake the girl in the bed beside me. Like everyone else I sleep with, I have no idea who she is._

_I just peered at her in the dim light. As far as I can tell, she's not very pretty. Her cheeks are too fat and her lips are too thin. I can barely remember why I let her in here in the first place- dammit, what has happened to my brain? I'm a Martian, I shouldn't be forgetting these things- but I do remember what we did last night. Oh God. We used the entire main room of the apartment to try out various "kinks" as she called them… I don't think any of those things turned me on more than oral does. It was a wasted effort, and now I'll have to clean the house tomorrow, unless poor Floyd takes that task upon himself…_

_God, my room is a mess. Looking around it right now reveals all sorts of things on the floor. God. What has my life become?_

_I just found a small handheld mirror on the floor. It's loaded with coke… I shouldn't take it. I know I shouldn't take it. I know it's poison. But I can't help myself…_

_Well, I took it. I went to the bathroom to do so, and on my way back the mirror broke. Good riddance. I know that cocaine is bad for me, that it's making me sick. I know this because I've been addicted to it for… how long now? I can no longer keep track of the passing of time… this diary would have me believe I've been addicted for two months. But it feels like much longer than that._

_I hate the cocaine and I hate what it's turned me into, but at the same time I love it. I can't get enough. Oh God, you would never believe how great it makes, or made, me feel… I never knew the true meaning of the expression "high as kite" (frankly, I never knew of the expression until I started taking drugs) until I tried cocaine and… Damn. That saying is the truest thing I've ever heard. But the high never lasts, of course. I crash and burn the day after… and it hurts a lot. It hurts a lot._

_When I came to Earth I had no idea there were such things as cocaine, cigarettes, and oral sex. I never thought I would get addicted to each of those things. And now my lifestyle is built around them, and it's killing me ever so slowly… But I have the excuse of not having been warned against these things. Floyd tried, but he was too late…_

_What has my life become?_

_While I was in the bathroom a few moments ago, I looked in the mirror and saw a face. I say a face because it didn't look like mine. I know I've always been on the skinny side, being a Martian and all, but these drugs have wreaked so much damage on my body that I'm now paper thin. The face I saw was gaunt, its skin stretched tight across the cheekbones, which looked so sharp you could cut your finger on them. The eyes I saw were reddened and bloodshot and sunken into the skull. Seeing this unknown face scared the hell out of me, because not only could  
I not find a trace of myself in it, but I no longer feel like myself either. Whoever I am… I know the man I was- "Ziggy Stardust" is the name that this diary proclaims is mine- but I no longer feel like him, wherever he is. He's hidden far down inside me, and dear God, I want him back._

_I know that tomorrow, none of this will matter. Tomorrow I'll send the girl in my bed on her way, as I always do, and tomorrow I'll have a breakfast of coke and probably nothing else. I'm killing myself with it… Tomorrow the fans will scream and cheer no matter what I do onstage. I could stand there and stay silent and unstring my guitar, and they'd still go wild for it. As long as I'm there, they don't care what I do. They don't care… None of them really love me anyway. They're not like you. _

_Who are you?_

_I have this feeling that I used to love someone, a long time ago, in another life. Life on a distant planet. I don't remember your face or even your name now. Just when I thought you were the one thing I would never forget, you disappeared from my mind, just like that. I'm lost without your memory. All I know is that you were beautiful. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever laid eyes on, and now you're gone._

"_I thought you died alone, a long long time ago…" That's from one of my songs, I know it is, or at least I think it is, but for the life of me I cannot remember which one._

_That was a million billion years ago, though…_

_What have I become since then? What have you been up to now? Me, a rock singer without any soul. You, nothing but soul, wandering in an unknown land. God, how I miss you so much._

_The tears are coming again, now- they always do around this time of night, when I can't get any sleep. Never happened until I started taking groupies home with me, though. I never know quite who I'm crying for. You, maybe, but I think more for myself, and the high that's wearing off._

_WHO AM I? WHAT HAPPENED TO ME? Why have I wandered so far astray?_

_I'm done crying for now, thank God… She didn't wake up, thank God. I'm alive, thank God._

_If anyone is reading this… can you please come to me right now? I am locked inside a body that I no longer recognize, a prison cell of my own design, and I want out._

_Can anyone help me? Please?_

_Someone, anyone, just help me._

_Help me._

The paper was rumpled, stained with salt water, and the ink was running in some places. There were only two pages left in the diary. Breathing hard, his body cold, Floyd turned to see if Ziggy had any parting remarks. _Of course he couldn't have written in this part, _his mind told him. _That last entry was written on the night before the day he died. _But as Floyd turned the page, his mind was proven wrong.

A set of lyrics were written in Ziggy's distinctive hand. There was no date, but Floyd had to believe they had been written somewhere in between Floyd's attempted intervention and Ziggy's death.

_Time takes a cigarette_

_Puts it in your mouth_

_You pull on a finger_

_Then another finger_

_Then your cigarette_

_The wall-to-wall is calling_

_It lingers, and then you forget_

_Oh, you're a rock and roll suicide._

_You're too old to lose it_

_Too young to choose it_

_And the clock waits so patiently on your song_

_You walk past a café, but you don't eat when you've lived too long_

_Oh, no, no, you're a rock and roll suicide._

_Chev brakes are snarling as you stumble across the road_

_But the day breaks instead, so you hurry home_

_Don't let the sunlight blast your shadow_

_Don't let the milk-float ride your mind_

_You're so natural, religiously unkind._

There it was- Ziggy's last message to the doomed planet Earth. He had given up on himself just as he had given up on the humans. Floyd scanned the lyrics with his eyes over and over, and suddenly he felt something snap inside of himself.

He jumped up and whirled about, searching the shed for a pen or a pencil. There was a pencil lying around in one corner, so Floyd grabbed it and slammed back down in his chair, writing quickly and furiously in the diary, a response to Ziggy's message.

_Oh no love, you're not alone._

_You're watching yourself, but you're too unfair._

_You've got your head all tangled up, but if I could only make you care._

_Oh, no, love, you're not alone._

_No matter who or what you've been,_

_No matter when or where you've seen,_

_All the knives seem to lacerate your brain._

_I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain._

Tears streamed down Floyd's face as he wrote, but he barely noticed. He was trembling, his hand shaking so badly he could hardly write out the next lines. The words poured over him and out onto the paper.

_You're not alone!_

_Just turn on with me, and you're not alone._

_Let's turn on with me and be not alone._

_Give me your hands, 'cause you're wonderful._

_Oh, give me your hands._

Once Floyd had finished the lyrics, he was overtaken by a massive wave of pain and sorrow that swept over him for what felt like an eternity. An hour or so passed before Floyd resurfaced, clutching the diary to his chest like a lifeline, taking in deep, shuddering breaths. He scrubbed at the tears on his face and stroked the diary's leather cover as if for comfort. Then he arose and made his way out of the shed and towards the house, back to Audrey's loving arms. As soon as she was within his reach, he shoved the diary into her hands. "Read this, love. It's an account of Ziggy's last months on Earth."

Audrey opened her mouth- she had been playing with Eva- but Floyd cut her off. "Go off and read it. I'll take over the game."

"Floyd-" Audrey stated cautiously, half-wondering if he was finally going insane.

"Just do it," he said, his brown eyes smoldering into her. She nodded, fled the room, and Floyd sat down to play with Eva while Audrey read.

Floyd cooked dinner that night, as Audrey was still indisposed, and called her downstairs when it was ready. As Audrey stepped into the room, Floyd could tell that she had finished reading the diary. Her face was pale and withdrawn, and her hands shook a bit as she handled the food.

They discussed the diary that night, wrapped in each other's arms.

"From the way you talked about Ziggy, I knew he was in a bad way when he was a rock star, but I never dreamed it was this bad," Audrey said.

"I know," Floyd agreed grimly. "I had no idea that Ziggy was so self-aware, even on the night before he was killed. I mean, he knew exactly what he was doing to himself. And he didn't go to anyone for help."

Floyd wasn't sure if he should be angry at Ziggy or if he should consider him to be a tragedy, a rock and roll suicide as Ziggy appeared to have thought of himself. Anger, however irrational it may have been, won out in the end. Ziggy had known he was killing himself, and yet he kept on taking drugs, even after Floyd had told him not to.

Sensing the path of Floyd's thoughts from the way his body tensed, Audrey said, "It had nothing to do with you, Floyd. Ziggy was a very troubled man."

"He never seemed like it until he grew famous in America," Floyd said. "There are more than a few references to 'my depression' in his diary, and he even mentioned that all Martians have this condition… He sure kept it well-hidden from me."

"I suppose what Mick Weird said was right," Audrey said. "He took it all too far. He wanted so desperately to feel good about himself and his life that he became addicted to cocaine, and burned out trying to reignite his flame."

"But why would he hide this from me?" Floyd asked rhetorically, remembering how even though Ziggy had been in a low emotional state the last time they truly talked, he had kept his body turned away from Floyd and even lied when Floyd mentioned he was crying. "Why was he so depressed? He was doing what he loved to do as a profession, and he lived with me. I was his friend…"

"I don't think Ziggy really cared what happened to him, as long as Earth was saved," Audrey said. "Remember, he was burdened by memories that spanned at least a million years, all of them in vivid detail. Your memories from six years ago are so scarring that you still have nightmares about them-" Floyd winced, as if to prove her point- "so imagine what it must have been like for Ziggy."

Floyd tried to imagine, and found that he could quite clearly picture himself out in a spacecraft, all alone, staring at the stars and wondering if there was life out there…

He shuddered, retreating from the false memory that did not belong to him. For a moment, a blackness had seeped over him, creeping into his bones. If that had been what Ziggy felt like often, Floyd didn't see how anyone could stand it.

"But he realized later that the drugs were making it worse. Why didn't he come to me then?"

"Maybe he tried to," Audrey said. "But he was too high all the time to follow through with it."

Floyd said nothing to this, instead rolling over to kiss Audrey's cheeks. She rubbed his back soothingly.

"Those lyrics that you wrote- the ones you used to finish Ziggy's song. What were they?"

"Oh…" Floyd said. "I wrote that today, actually. It just sort of came out of me."

Audrey kissed Floyd and said nothing more.

When she was asleep, Floyd turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling in the dark. One downside to living far from civilization was that there were no city lights or anything but the light of the Moon to illuminate Floyd's bedroom. As a child, he had had a potent fear of the dark, and now even as an adult the dark still frightened him a bit. At least there was Audrey to hold- and at least, among all those dark memories, there were a few rays of light. Floyd drifted off the sleep envisioning a certain memory, Ziggy's memory, one that he had seen before, and that had also been strengthened by a diary entry that Floyd had read recently.

_I can't sleep, I'm far too excited for tomorrow. I might as well write in here, as I have nothing else to do besides practice my guitar, and I don't want to make much noise. I think I'll describe a memory that I've been returning to often to help me sleep, a memory of a day that went by far too quickly. The best memory I've ever had._

_There were weeks of preparation leading up to it, but on the day-of everything seemed spontaneous, and yet perfectly choreographed. It is my opinion that nothing beautiful can be well-planned. And this day certainly was beautiful. The festival was comprised mainly of music and dance, but there were displays of visual art of course. I enjoyed the performance art more. It took place on a very sunny day, towards the end of summer, one of those bittersweet, wistful days in which one can feel a sense of sadness for the end of the warm days, but also a sense of joy for this last, blessed day. The festival was conceived as a send-off to summer, really; nobody said so, but its purpose was clear._

_I participated in a lot of the singing and dancing pieces. My sister Pia was at her painting work, of course, and I helped out there too. Concerts on Mars were quite different than the ones I've seen on Earth. Humans put on concerts for a variety of reasons- to raise money, to awe others with their musical ability, to simply make a spectacle of themselves. But on Mars, the focus was rightly on the music, and only on the music. People went to enjoy themselves, and the performers did their job because they loved doing it. Everything was very simple. Of course, one could make a living off of singing or playing an instrument, but the performances on that day were free- no one had to pay to see them. That's the way all music should be, really._

_The singing pieces that I participated in were mainly wordless pieces, singing our lungs out and clapping a rhythm. Before the day of, I thought I would never get my part right, but during the performance I found it didn't matter. There was a lot of improvisation- no one really stuck to their specific part. It's incredible to be a part of a crowd, lifting your voice among them and beating the rhythm with your body._

_How could I forget, though, the greatest part of the day, the least-expected but most shocking and most beautiful? After a certain piece, I had a break for a bit, and so I was wandering the field drinking everything in. Now, the sky that day was darkly colored, although the sun shone clearly through, so that we couldn't see anything beyond the swathes of cloud. But as I was walking, I happened to raise my head to the sky, and I saw something bright and glimmering piercing through the darkness. It wasn't the sun- it burned in a completely different way. Others began looking up, and suddenly we saw the sky burst open, revealing several ships floating in the sky. There were about seven of them- I didn't bother to count the entire fleet- and they all looked like the types of ships that sail upon the sea, only these were sailing in the air. The masts and decks gleamed like polished metal, and the sails were a splendid white, throwing off rainbows in the sun. The creatures that piloted them were unlike anything we had ever seen._

_The entire group of people who had attended the festival climbed up to the top of a hill, where we peered together at the newcomers. The beings stared back, and tried to speak with us, but we couldn't understand their language. They were tall, much taller than Martians and humans, and their skin was ashy gray. Their hair rippled in the breeze, multicolored pastel streamers. Their eyes were unbelievable. They glowed with a deep light from within, a light that instantly led one to believe that all was well, all was good. Their language sounded like singing._

_Each of the ships had a different name, but there was one common word succeeding each title- VENUS. Venus is a planet in the Earth's Milky Way galaxy, or so it's called by humans- I assume the word is the same in their sing-song language. It was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen. All we could do was stand and stare._

_A few people believed they could transcend their boundaries on the ground and join the creatures in the sky. They rushed to climb aboard, but the creatures shook their heads. And as quickly as they'd come, they soared back into the clouds, leaving us alone. None of them dared set foot on our planet. Wondering if it was all a dream, we walked back down to the main field. I personally believe everything I saw on the hill. I never was able to go to Venus and confirm the visions, but the fact that all of us saw them at the same time has to prove something. Mars was a planet that was more open to interplanetary visitors than Earth is, although that was the first time in my life that I'd ever seen creatures from another planet. But we weren't that surprised. Somehow, those Venusians knew that we were celebrating that day and decided to drop by. Their addition was greatly welcomed, although they didn't stay for long._

_To round off this perfect day- as if the visitors from Venus weren't enough- there was a celebration of one aspect of our Martian culture that we were all proud of, and that I for one miss. Each of us who were not bonded to another's soul had to choose a partner. As the sun went down, we lay down with each other in the grass. This is where you came in, of course. It was mandatory to participate in this final festivity, this celebration of free love, but I was nervous because I was afraid no one would want to partner up with me. However, just as I was thinking I would be the last one left, you walked up to me like an angel sent from Heaven. I remember you on that day, the first time I'd ever laid eyes on you, in vivid detail. The stars painted on your cheek, undoubtedly Pia's handiwork. Your mint green eyes, glowing like the Venusians'. Your soft voice, asking me to join you. And so I did. We lay down together, and I remember the orange sun painting each joined body with the last of its rays, rippling over us in such a way that we were no longer two separate beings, we truly were one. They say you never forget the first time. I know I wouldn't even if I could._

_If I could go back in time and relive that day, I would- not to change anything, only to enjoy that fleeting moment one more time. The memory is not enough. I captured it in a song later- 'Memory of a Free Festival,' it's entitled. Every time I sing that song, I think of you and that day, and I believe for the briefest moment that I'm back home where I belong. Then the song ends and the spell is broken._

_I love you, Sera. I always have since the bright day we met, and I always will, until we meet again._

"_We claimed the very source of joy ran through. It didn't, but it seemed that way. I kissed a lot of people that day."_

"_The Sun Machine is coming down, and we're gonna have a party."_


	28. Shine On, You Crazy Diamond

**A/N- Hello, nonexistent readers. If anyone has somehow read this story all the way up to this point, I'd like to suggest you stop reading now if you dislike unrealistic plots and depressing stories and want this story to leave a good taste in your mouth. But if not… feel free to venture on.**

Floyd awoke feeling well-rested after his trip through Ziggy's memory. He opened the curtains of the window nearby his and Audrey's bed, and stared out at the sun and the forest of trees behind the house. _I love you, Ziggy. _The memory had been as clear as if it were his own. He could almost see the Venusians walking the sky, hear the tribal music, feel Ziggy's dream woman touching him…

"Audrey?" Floyd stated, almost unconsciously. She was lying next to him, and responded with, "Mmm…"

Floyd slid back under the covers and woke his wife up with his lips. "Audrey? I seem to recall something you wrote in a letter to me…"

"Yes, love?" Audrey said, wrapping her arms around Floyd.

"You bought Ziggy's single, 'The Man Who Sold The World,' right?"

"Yes," Audrey said, blinking her brown eyes in Floyd's face. "I did."

"I want to hear it," Floyd said. He kissed her.

Audrey pulled away after a few moments and twined her fingers through Floyd's. "How urgently do you need to hear it?"

Floyd looked up through the window, the sunlight clearing through the glass. He pressed his body close to Audrey's. "It can wait."

Downstairs at breakfast, Floyd and Eva ate at the table while Audrey took out the record, cleaned it, and put it on the player. She handed Floyd the case, which sent a pang through him as he looked at Ziggy's face on the cover. The single's A-side was 'The Man Who Sold The World,' while its B-side was 'Memory of a Free Festival.' As the music began, Floyd stopped eating to concentrate and listen.

_I thought you died alone, a long long time ago…_

_Oh no, not me_

_I never lost control_

_You're face to face_

_With the man who sold the world_

The mix was a bit muddy-sounding, and Ziggy's voice didn't sound quite top-notch. Floyd thought the decision to turn the song into a rocker had not been the best one. When the song was over, Floyd got up and switched the record onto the other side. He sat down on the couch and reveled in the bliss that was Ziggy's memory of a free festival, the one that Floyd had shared with him in the night. The ending of the song deeply moved him. _"The Sun Machine is coming down, and we're gonna have a party…"_

Eva, at the table, had also stopped eating, like Floyd, and had her eyes closed to listen to the music. "This one is her favorite," Audrey murmured in Floyd's ear, and he smiled. His daughter had good taste.

After breakfast, Floyd told Audrey about the half-dream, half-memory he had had the night before. "This is the first good dream I've had in what feels like forever. It probably has been," he sighed. He explained to Audrey that he had shared memories with Ziggy twice before, and that there was no possible way of explaining it, according to Ziggy. "Well, except for one thing, but if I told you, you'd never believe it."

"What?" Audrey asked.

Floyd rubbed her hand. "Well, Ziggy said that when two people on Mars are deeply in love, they don't have such a thing as marriage. They go through a process which literally binds their souls together. The way Ziggy explained it, it sounded literal to me, anyway, but he could have meant symbolically. Anyway, Ziggy told me that when two Martians are bonded by soul, they begin to share thoughts and memories. That's the only way I could have shared memories with Ziggy, but it's not possible because I've never been bonded to him. I loved him, but love does not equal bondage."

"I read about bondage in Ziggy's diary," Audrey replied. "I suppose if we were on Mars, we would be bonded souls."

"That's exactly what Ziggy suggested to me," Floyd said, leaning into his wife. "I agree with it. I love you, Audrey."

In a little while, Audrey had to teach Eva her lesson for the day, and Floyd went outside to work in the shed.The little structure had been built by Floyd, and he kept a variety of things in it- the lawnmower, a toolbox, spare pencils and notebooks in case his little black book ever ran out. Of course, now the book was lost beneath the ocean in the shell of a fallen airplane. Floyd sat down in the shed on the stool that he had sat on yesterday while reading Ziggy's diary and pulled out a new notebook. He picked up a nearby pencil- the one he had used to finish Ziggy's song- and sat for a while, trying to write something, anything, but unable to find the words.

Eventually Floyd got up and exited the shed. He went into the house again, slipped past Audrey and Eva, who were sitting on the couch, deep in the day's lesson, and traveled upstairs to the bedroom. There, Floyd opened the closet and removed the newest addition to it- Ziggy's acoustic guitar, which Floyd had rescued from their apartment. He took it up in his arms and went downstairs again, Audrey not looking up as he passed her. _Good. _Floyd had a wild and crazy idea that might not work out, and he didn't want Audrey to make a big deal out of it.

Back out in the shed, Floyd sat down on the stool and plucked the guitar's strings, so familiar feeling under his fingers. Ziggy had done a great job of keeping it in tune. Floyd played around with it a bit, working on basic notes- nothing that would feel too painful to him- and then abandoned the guitar at his feet, his mind suddenly flowing with lyrics. Not since yesterday had Floyd felt creativity this strong. He grabbed the fresh notebook and began to write.

By the afternoon, Floyd has exhausted his creative mind. He flipped pages and went over everything he had written that day. A strange smile filled his face, creeping out from nowhere and surprising him. He was no good judge of his own work, but the words he had written seemed to have merit, at least as much as his old writings that were hailed as works of art.

Standing up and passing through the shed's door, Floyd took a moment to stop and pull his jacket more tightly around himself, his smile beginning to fade and his breath steaming in the air. Turning his head, he peered through the thicket of trees that surrounded his property, and suddenly a memory jolted through him. _The scream of an emergency siren… his hands clutching tightly to the controls… the flame licking around the shields and the Earth below him violently rising to meet him… Then the blackout. Then the pain. And then…_

Floyd resurfaced from the torrent of images which felt so much like memories but which were nothing he had ever experienced before. He shook his head and rubbed his temples. _Did I just dream while I was awake? _He stared back at the trees again, and the facts sorted themselves into his head.

_Ziggy's spacecraft is out there._

Immediately, a plan began to unfold in Floyd's mind.

"What were you doing out there in the shed?" Audrey asked Floyd as the Pinkertons settled down for lunch.

"Working," he mumbled. And that was all.

"_It's the most wonderful time of the year…"_

Audrey could have laughed at the irony of the Christmas song, but she didn't feel up to the task. This December was not going to be wonderful, because it brought on January and the year 1987- leaving the deadline to planet Earth's death as four years left.

The supplies that Bath was receiving were dwindling every day, as more and more resources were rationed in an effort to make everything last as long as possible. Audrey always felt embarrassed bringing home less and less food, but neither Floyd nor Eva complained. Floyd knew that times were getting harder, and Eva had been told by Audrey that it would make her job a lot easier if she kept her mouth shut.

Lately, Audrey had been taking Eva into town much more often because Floyd was working on some mysterious project. "I'm too busy," he would say to Audrey when she asked him to watch Eva in her absence. "I'll be out in the shed." He seemed to spend a lot of his time there nowadays.

Walking down the cold streets with Eva's hand in her own, Audrey wondered what exactly was the matter with Floyd. Surely it couldn't be anything like that time six, soon to be seven, years ago, when he had drawn away from her… But Audrey still had her suspicions that a new wall was in place, despite the open-ness Floyd displayed to her in all other aspects of their life. She remembered Floyd saying that his father's death was the first event that changed him, and she herself had built a small wall after her mother had died. Ziggy's death might be enough to send Floyd over the edge. But he had a family- he had Audrey and Eva. What could be wrong?

A tug on Audrey's hand pulled her thoughts back to Earth. "Mummy," Eva was saying, looking in the window of a forlorn toy shop, "when is Christmas going to be here?"

"I don't know," Audrey responded, looking out along the market square. A few cars passed by occasionally, and one or two people hurried along to their homes, but for the most part the street was empty save for the Pinkerton women. "We might not celebrate it this year."

"Why not?" Eva asked, sounding dejected. Audrey felt bad for giving her a dose of reality, but she needed to know the truth. "Well, I don't think they're selling Christmas trees anymore," she said. "No one is really in the mood."

"Why?" Eva asked. Audrey sighed and squeezed her hand, looking down into her brown eyes. "Because the Earth is dying, little one. This is not a season of joy."

Eva looked down at her feet. "I want to shop for Daddy," she whispered.

Seeing her daughter's sadness broke Audrey's heart. She started to give in to her. "We can definitely shop for Daddy," she told Eva, and her face lit up like a strand of Christmas lights.

There weren't many customers out doing their shopping, as Audrey had predicted. It felt so strange to see the largest shop in town practically deserted. Audrey solemnly led Eva along, wondering what in the world it was that she could buy Floyd at a department store. He was never a good one for gifts. The previous year, Eva had given Floyd a scarf that she chose and Audrey bought. The year before, Audrey had bought him a collection of notebooks that he had asked for (she never figured out what it was he wanted them for). Before that, she'd gotten a lawnmower that worked better than their previous one, and before that, she hadn't given him a gift, as Floyd had told her that her love was enough. There had been no gift-giving on Christmas during their sixteen years of silence.

Floyd, on the other hand, always seemed to know exactly what to get Audrey. She had no idea how he did it, what with staying in seclusion for the past five years of his life, but every Christmas he would have something stunning for her. Only once was it a piece of jewelry- after giving it to her, Floyd had made the point in saying he wouldn't spend any more of his money on such pointless things, as she already looked beautiful the way she was. The following years' presents had been wonderful, though. This year, Audrey doubted that he would be giving her anything, unless his mysterious work in the shed had something to do with it. If that was so, Audrey was slightly worried- what could be so extravagant that he had to plan for days in advance?

"Mummy?" Eva said.

"Yes, dear?"

"What does Daddy want for Christmas?"

Audrey sighed. She truly had no idea.

"I suppose we can buy him… that package of chocolates," Audrey said, picking a gift out of thin air. No matter what it was, she knew Floyd would like it if it came from herself or Eva. "Come on now."

Audrey paid for the chocolates, averting her gaze when the weary-looking shopkeeper stared at her. _Why are you wasting your time with trivialities like Christmas? _His eyes seemed to say. _Soon it will be four years that we have left. _Eva was unusually quiet as she peered up at the counter. The shopkeeper handed Audrey the gift in a plastic bag. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. Audrey took Eva's hand and started to lead her off. Just then the man called from behind her back, "Have… have a happy holiday."

"Thank you," Audrey said, and smiled back at him.

That night, Audrey hinted to Floyd that Eva wanted to celebrate Christmas. "I'm going to shop for her," she said. "She may or may not have persuaded me to buy something for you."

"You shouldn't have let her talk you into it," Floyd said, although there was a trace of amusement in his voice. He snuggled close to Audrey, sharing her body heat for warmth. The short days had left behind an impenetrable darkness that blanketed the couple. Neither one could see the other's face- they had to rely on the feel of their bodies to know what the other was thinking.

"It's a very small gift," Audrey said. "Nothing to get excited about."

Floyd kissed Audrey's forehead. "Well, as long as you're telling me this, I may or may not have something to give to you and Eva."

"How big is it?" Audrey asked uncertainly.

Floyd's body shook with silent laughter. "Not big at all. Trust me." _At least the first part isn't._

On Christmas Day, the cold woke Floyd early in the morning. He shivered and pulled the blankets up tighter around his naked body. Audrey had persuaded him to make love to her the night before, despite the fact that the house's heating system wasn't very good. Floyd could never resist Audrey. He had meant to put something on later, but fell asleep before he could get out of bed.

"Happy Christmas," a voice sounded next to Floyd. Floyd rolled over and stared into Audrey's smiling face. He returned the expression and the greeting, and they met with a kiss.

"Put on some clothes, love," Audrey admonished Floyd when they broke apart. Floyd laughed. "I would if it wasn't so cold."

"I guess we can wait for a bit," Audrey said, wrapping Floyd in her arms. "Honestly, you're shivering! Try not to fall asleep right away next time."

"Maybe we should stick to only having sex during the summer," Floyd said, and immediately followed that with, "Of course, that would never work out…"

Audrey laughed and kissed her husband again. They lay together in silence for a few more blessed minutes, and then rolled out of bed, Floyd's teeth chattering in the chilly air.

They woke Eva up and took her downstairs. "Happy Christmas!" As soon as Audrey turned the lights on, Eva squealed with excitement. Audrey and Floyd had worked together the night before to string up all the Christmas lights they had around the main room. The walls now glimmered and twinkled with different colors. On the table, three packages and a sheet of paper sat. The Pinkertons sat down at the table and distributed the presents.

"Thank you," Floyd said, laughter in his voice, as he unwrapped the box of chocolates. Audrey smiled at him. "You're welcome, I picked it out." They watched as Eva unwrapped her present and ended up with a brand new box of Crayons, in every available shade. The other present was also for Eva- a stuffed dog. Audrey had known that Crayons would hold Eva's attention later; it was the toy that she would want immediately. Eva thanked her parents, looking ready to burst with happiness.

"Did you draw something for us?" Floyd asked, indicating the sheet of paper on the table. Eva nodded, and Floyd and Audrey crowded around to look at it.

Eva's five-year-old hands were not very skilled at drawing realistically, but Audrey knew all the same what the drawing depicted. Eva had drawn her family- Floyd with his bush of brown hair, Audrey in a flowing pink dress, Eva herself holding hands with Audrey and smiling widely. Above the family were a bunch of dots poked with a pencil, presumably stars, and among the stars was a familiar face- a face with a red stripe down one side of it and long black hair. Ziggy was in the stars, smiling down at the Pinkertons. Floyd felt his breath catch in his throat.

"It's beautiful," he said to Eva, and Audrey agreed- "Lovely!"

They settled down, and Floyd made a breakfast of sausages and hot chocolate. Audrey stared amusedly at Floyd as he worked- "Is this your present to us?"

"No," Floyd said. "Just wait!" He brought breakfast to the table and they all ate together.

After breakfast, Audrey cleaned up while Floyd played with Eva. Soon the Pinkertons settled down on the couch together, Eva playing lazily with her new toy while Audrey and Floyd discussed the day's plans. As it was a holiday, Eva would not be receiving a lesson that day. "Maybe we should take her into town," Audrey said. "Just like last year." Last Christmas, Audrey, Floyd, and Eva had eaten out together, Floyd momentarily overcoming his fear of being recognized.

"I don't know, Audrey," Floyd said. "This isn't your average Christmas, you know. I bet none of the town's decorations are even put up."

Audrey inclined her head in a way that meant yes. "We could go for a walk in the woods. How does that sound?"

"Splendid," Floyd said. "And when we get back, I'll give you your present." He smiled, and Audrey had to wonder again what the present could possibly be.

Bundled up in winter clothing, the Pinkertons walked the length of their property, listening to the birds that could stand the cold chirp and watching the bare tree branches rattle in the wind. Audrey hoped it would snow later in the day. That would put the icing on the cake. Floyd enjoyed the silence as they walked along and marveled at how life went on in nature, even when humans were panicking. He made sure to steer his girls away from the location of Ziggy's burnt-out spacecraft. Audrey noticed what Floyd was doing, and thought it was because the sight would be too depressing on what was supposed to be an enjoyable day. She had no idea of Floyd's true intentions.

By the time the Pinkertons returned to their house, Eva was frozen and tired. Audrey took her inside while Floyd stopped by the shed and relocated Ziggy's acoustic guitar and his notebook with poems in it to the house. He came in unable to feel his fingers and toes.

"I'm tired," Eva said as Audrey undid her coat.

"It's about time for a nap," Audrey said to her. "Come on, I'll take you upstairs." She picked Eva up and walked over to Floyd, who kissed her on the head. "Goodnight, my angel."

"What about the gift?" Audrey asked quietly.

Floyd shrugged. "Let her rest. There's something I need to show you first."

After Eva had been tucked away in her bed, Floyd sat Audrey down on the sofa. He was very nervous about how this would go over. Would it ruin the rest of the day? Floyd hoped that Audrey would take things the right way.

"This is my present to you, Audrey," he said. "I have loved you for six years now, and this is my way of paying you back for everything that you've ever done for me, none of which I deserved."

"You deserved all of it," Audrey murmured. "Go on, Floyd." Finally, her curiosity over Floyd's gift would be satisfied. Little did she know that more than just one curiosity would be sated by his present.

Floyd looked into Audrey's brown eyes, eyes through which he could see into her soul. He swallowed, wet his lips, and then, still staring unblinkingly at Audrey, began to sing. It was the first time that she had heard his singing voice in person.

"_Through the fish-eyed lense of tearstained eyes, I can barely define the shape of this moment in time. And far from flying high in clear blue skies, I'm spiraling down to the hole in the ground where I hide…"_

In the space of one song, Floyd poured everything he had ever wanted to say to Audrey out into the open air, into her ears. None of it was about love- that he had already said so many times to her. This was a darker place, a confession of all his insecurities, a confession of everything he hid from her.

"_And if I open up to you, and show you my weak side… what would you do? Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone? Would you take the children away, and leave me alone? And smile in reassurance as you whisper down the phone…. Would you send me packing, or would you take me home?"_

Floyd's voice trembled on the final line of the song- "_I never had the nerve to make the final cut." _He closed his eyes for a moment, took in a deep breath, and then opened them again to look at Audrey. She sat as still as a stone, her hands folded across her knees, an expression of pain written across her face.

"Fl-" she began, but he cut her off.

"Audrey, I love you. But you have to know something… something I've kept from you all those years. You have to know what I did at my last concert." Floyd swallowed. "I went absolutely insane, Audrey. I ordered all of my fans to kill each other, to 'weed out the weaklings.' I thought of myself as their dictator and the fans as my 'Hammers…' I am responsible for the deaths of innocent people. I saw them tear each other to pieces with my own eyes. I saw them break into shops and beat the owners, I saw them rape couples parked outside in cars… I saw it all from a podium they'd built to put me on, and there I was, holding a megaphone to my mouth, ordering them all to ravage and destroy…" The words poured from Floyd's lips. "I… I… I'm so, so sorry, Audrey." He struggled for a moment not to cry- he'd done too much of that over the past few days. What mattered now was Audrey's response.

Her lips moved. "Come here, Floyd." He went reluctantly, half-afraid that she was going to berate him, call him a murderer and get the hell out of the house. But to Floyd's complete shock, Audrey reached out and pulled him into her embrace.

"What are you doing?!" he mumbled as she stroked his back in a soothing manner. "Audrey, how can you stand to touch me after hearing all of that?!"

"I can stand it because I love you," Audrey said. "Nothing you could ever tell me could change that."

Floyd broke out of her arms. "But I'm a murderer! How can you- how can you even think of-"

"Settle down," was all Audrey said. She waited until Floyd had calmed a bit, his eyes trained on her. Then she said, "Floyd, you're not a murderer. I heard exactly what happened that day in America. You went onstage and starting giving your fans orders through music, but after one song you left the stage. The audience went mad with waiting for you, but they didn't resort to violence. You were found in a bathroom stall later on, unconscious."

Floyd shivered as the memories wrapped around him. How could this be? How could Audrey's story contradict what Floyd had always believed happened?

"Audrey…" Floyd started. "I don't know what to think anymore."

"It's all right," Audrey said. She stood up and hugged Floyd. "Whatever happened, that was in the past. It's all behind you now. I am here for you, and I love you."

"Oh, Audrey…" Floyd buried his face in her shoulder. How could she make everything right, just like that?

The memories of destruction were still clear in his mind. For six years, Floyd had believed that everything he'd seen that night was real, very real. He had thought he would never be able to atone for his mistakes. But now it seemed that he had been wrong. He hadn't caused any deaths at all. He wasn't wanted for murder… he could go out in public if he wanted to…

"Thank you," Floyd whispered in Audrey's ear.

"Thank you," she whispered back.

It was decided by Floyd to present his final gift to Eva and Audrey after dinner. Eva was excited, though Audrey was a little more subdued. She was still mulling over her own gift in her mind. Floyd's lyrics had touched her powerfully, deep inside. She had a feeling there would be a lot to discuss tonight, after Eva was put to bed.

As soon as dinner was over, Floyd instructed Eva and Audrey to sit down on the couch. He pulled up a chair and place Ziggy's guitar in his lap. "This is a present for the two girls in my life," he said. "It's also a tribute to Ziggy Stardust." Softly, Floyd began to play.

"_So, so you think you can tell,_

"_Heaven from Hell?_

"_Blue skies from pain?_

"_Can you tell a green field_

"_From a cold steel rail?_

"_A smile from a veil?_

"_Do you think you can tell?_

"_Did they get you to trade,_

"_Your heroes for ghosts?_

"_Hot ashes for trees?_

"_Hot air for a cool breeze?_

"_Cold comfort for change?_

"_Did you exchange_

"_A walk-on part in the war_

"_For a lead role in a cage?"_

The song was haunting, Floyd's voice matching every note. It mourned along, a regretful quality in the guitar's tone, longing for something missing. Floyd's voice turned more emotional as he hit the more intimate section of the song.

"_How I wish, how I wish you were here._

"_We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,_

"_Year after year._

"_Running over the same old ground,_

"_Have we found_

"_The same old fears?_

"_I wish you were here."_

After a few more strums of the guitar, Floyd was done. Audrey began to clap, and so did Eva. "Beautiful," Audrey called out. "Thank you, Floyd."

He smiled. "I'm not quite done yet. Here's another song I wrote for Ziggy." Audrey and Eva quieted, and Floyd began to sing a cappella.

"_Remember when you were young?_

"_You shone like the sun._

"_Shine on, you crazy diamond._

"_Now there's a look in your eyes_

"_Like black holes in the sky._

"_Shine on, you crazy diamond._

"_You were caught in the crossfire of childhood and stardom,_

"_Blown by the steel breeze._

"_Come on, you raver, you seer of visions,_

"_Come on, you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine._

"_You reached for the secret too soon._

"_You cried for the Moon._

"_Shine on, you crazy diamond._

"_Threatened by shadows at night,_

"_And exposed in the light._

"_Shine on, you crazy diamond._

"_Well, you wore out your welcome with random precision,_

"_Sail on the steel breeze._

"_Come on, you target for faraway laughter._

"_Come on, you painter, you prisoner, you piper, and shine._

"_Nobody knows where you are,_

"_How near or how far._

"_Shine on, you crazy diamond._

"_Pile on many more layers, _

"_And I'll be joining you there._

"_Shine on, you crazy diamond._

"_And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph,_

"_Sail on the steel breeze._

"_Come on, you boy-child, you winner and loser,_

"_Come on, you miner of truth and delusion,_

"_And shine." _

There was a long silence after Floyd had sung the last verse. He waited nervously for a reaction. Then Audrey began applauding slowly.

"You liked it?" Floyd asked tentatively.

"Daddy!" Eva broke in. "You can sing!"

A smile touched Floyd's face. "Yes, I can, little one." He moved over to the couch and hugged Eva, kissing her cheek, and then embraced Audrey. She threw her arms around his neck. "I loved it," she whispered in Floyd's ear.

"Thank you," Floyd said back, and lowered his voice- "There's something I need to talk to you about. After Eva's gone to bed."

"Again?" Audrey sighed. Floyd nodded and pulled away, plopping down on the sofa between his girls. "Happy Christmas, Eva. Happy Christmas, Audrey. I love you."

"I love you, Daddy," Eva said, snuggling close. Audrey said nothing, only kissed Floyd's neck. Floyd sighed, putting his arms around each of them. They sat together holding each other for another few minutes, watching the Christmas lights blink on and off, until Eva drifted off into sleep. Then Audrey got up to put her to bed, saying to Floyd as she did so, "We'll talk down here. Wait for me." Floyd pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and waited until Audrey came back. She slipped under the blanket and they cuddled together.

"All things considered, it was a very lovely Christmas," Audrey said.

"Yes." Floyd sighed. "Here's to four more years of that."

They held each other silently for a bit, and then Floyd said, "What did you think of those songs I wrote? Tell me truthfully."

Audrey thought for a moment, replaying the songs in her head and deciding on her phrasing. "Well…" she said. "I enjoyed the first one more than the second one. Your voice fit the tune more, I think. I liked the accompaniment too. The second one had some nice lyrics, though." She hesitated. "Is this what you've been doing in the shed for the past few days, Floyd? You've been writing songs?"

"Yes, I have," Floyd said. "I've found it to be the only way to deal with my grief. You don't mind, do you…?"

"Not at all," Audrey said hastily. "I only find it odd that after five years of retirement from the music business, you've come back to it now." She didn't want to ask if this meant anything specific, or if it was just a random occurrence. It turned out she didn't need to.

Floyd pulled Audrey closer to him. "Listen to me," he murmured. "It's been a long four months. During that time I learned that the Earth was dying, returned to the country I thought I would never see again, a country I hate, and I saw one of my few close friends gradually destroy himself. Ultimately, I came out of the experience shattered, just as I did six years ago when I quit the music business. I need something or someone to hold onto, and whereas last time it was you I latched onto, this time it's music. Ziggy's music… Ziggy's music touched me deep inside. No music, or really nothing else, has ever done that to me before. It's made me revisit my former craft, rethink it, give it a dose of creativity. And… I've also got an idea."

He paused, and Audrey asked warily, "What sort of idea?"

Floyd breathed. "Audrey, you read Ziggy's diary. Do you remember how he ended the entry for (date)?"

"I haven't got a clue," Audrey said. "Not off the top of my head. Remind me, Floyd?"

"He said that if he was to die on Earth, which ultimately happened, he would like to be buried on Mars. He believed that he would never be at rest if he was buried on Earth." Floyd stared into Audrey's eyes. "Call me crazy, if you will, but I believe that Ziggy would have expected me to respect his wish. My idea is to go back to America, obtain Ziggy's body, and give him a proper burial on his home planet."

Audrey gazed at Floyd with unfathomable brown eyes. Floyd waited for her to speak, to oppose this plan, to claim that at long last, he had finally gone mad…

"How are we going to manage that?" Audrey asked finally.

"I don't know." Floyd shook his head. "I have an inkling of an idea, but I don't know yet how to execute it. But it's got to happen, even if it takes four years. Audrey… I believe that this is the only way I can make up for not saving Ziggy's life when I had the chance. I know you don't want me to blame myself, but I do. I owe this duty to Ziggy."

Audrey held Floyd tighter, unsure of what to say. For once in her life, she couldn't find the words to express her emotions. She had always been so used to taking the upper hand in her relationship with Floyd. Audrey was the one who taught Eva her lessons, the one who went out in town for supplies, the one who comforted Floyd when memories ate him up. She was used to Floyd relying on her and waiting on her advice, not the other way around. Now Floyd was the one making decisions. Audrey didn't know how she felt about this change of leadership.

"It might take a long time," Audrey said. "How on Earth will we obtain the body, much less go to Mars?" To even seriously consider the last prospect seemed absurd. "I read in the papers that Ziggy's body is being held in maximum security in the nation's capital. Are you sure you want to spend your last four years of life working on this? Wouldn't you rather make the most of the time you have left with Eva and I?"

"I'm sure," Floyd said immediately. "I may not have known Ziggy for as long as I've known you and Eva, but I was in love with him, Audrey…" A shadow of pain crossed his face. "I am dedicated to this cause. I will even come out of retirement if my music can help at all."

Despite herself, Audrey couldn't keep the shock from appearing on her face. Pink Floyd coming out of retirement? This was indeed an interesting development.

"Please tell me you're on board with this idea, Audrey," Floyd begged. He took her hands in his. "I don't want to have to do this alone."

Audrey could have protested, but there was no way she would choose that moment to leave Floyd. They had been through so much together. She couldn't bail on him now, when he probably needed her help.

"I'm with you," Audrey said. "Always and forever." She kissed Floyd. A spasm passed through his body.

"You don't have to do this," he said. "Honestly, if you want to abandon me now…"

"I would never abandon you," Audrey said. "I would never even dream of it. Never in a million years."

Not for the first time, Floyd was bowled over by Audrey's devotion. He kissed her suddenly, fiercely, his lips moving quickly in a way that seemed to say, _I have no idea why you still love me after all this time, but I'm very grateful to you for it. _When he pulled away, Audrey sighed with pleasure.

"We can discuss everything else in the morning," she said. "I think it's time to get to bed."

"Wait," Floyd said. He got up and went to the light switch. After fiddling with it, Floyd turned out the main lights, leaving the Christmas lights to blink on the wall. He then climbed back onto the sofa and under the afghan.

"Goodnight, Audrey. I love you."

He could feel her smiling in the dark. "Goodnight, Floyd. I love you too."


	29. Faces And Traces Of Home

Chapter Twenty-Eight: _Faces And Traces Of Home_

Audrey's wish for snow was granted the following day. She woke up to Floyd nudging her- "Get up, love. There's something you should see." Audrey groggily got to her feet and, supported by Floyd, made her way to the window, where a light sprinkling of white powder on the ground and more flakes falling from the white sky met her eyes.

It snowed for the rest of the day, and soon began to cover the doorstep. Audrey worried that they might be snowed in eventually, and asked Floyd to clear the driveway to allow her car to pass through. She had no immediate intentions of going into town, though. It was sure to be dismal and desolate there, and Audrey didn't want her illusion of a holiday spoiled, not yet.

Eva was delighted with the snow, and after bundling her up tight in winter clothes, Audrey and Floyd took Eva outside to play. They stood on the porch together, talking while Eva made snow angels, and occasionally called out warnings- "Don't go too far, Eva!"

Floyd had woken in the morning with the events of the previous night fresh on his mind. The fact that Audrey had accepted his idea was exciting, and Floyd would have liked to discuss it further with her. But first, there was the matter of a few certain words that Audrey had said last night. They were sticking in Floyd's mind, and so when Eva was playing outside he ventured to ask Audrey about it.

"Audrey? About last night…"

"Mmm hmm?"

"You mentioned something that I hadn't heard of before. You said that you read in the papers that Ziggy's body is still in America, locked in the nation's capital?" This was news to Floyd. He hadn't really thought about where the body might go after it had been brought to the hospital. There was only one reason he could think of for why it might be kept under maximum security.

Audrey glanced at Floyd. "Yes," she said. "I read that recently. It must have slipped my mind to tell you."

"Well, why is it there?" Floyd asked.

Audrey drew in a sharp breath. "I think you'd better see for yourself. Eva!" she called. "Come here!"

Back inside, Audrey helped Eva remove her winter clothing and settled her down on the floor with her new package of Crayons and some paper. She then rushed to her bedroom while Floyd sat down at the table. When Audrey came back, she was carrying a recent edition of Somerset's newspaper. Above a large photo of Ziggy was a headline that proclaimed, "TESTS PROVE SINGER STARDUST'S BODY TO BE INHUMAN."

Floyd sat down and said nothing as he devoured the article. Words leapt out at him- _autopsy results… white blood… accelerated healing strength… _Everything that Floyd had known already about Ziggy. _Stardust's body has been shipped to the ruins of Washington, D.C., where government officials are keeping it under tight security in order for scientists to run further tests without interruption, _the article read. _No one has come to claim the body yet. Furthermore, there are no records of anyone named Stardust living in London until recently. Was the enigmatic singer's claim that he was from Mars true?_

At the very end, there was a small mention of the Spiders From Mars- that after breaking up the band, they had moved out of Suffragette City together, heading for California, and thus were unable to participate in any interviews. The identities of the three murderers who had taken Ziggy's life were yet to be solved. Floyd groaned loudly at this. He knew almost certainly that it had been the Spiders who had killed Ziggy. The voices of the murderers, the voices of the men who had kidnapped him, and the voices of the Spiders were all the same. How in the world had no one noticed?

Ah well, it wasn't up to Floyd to bring justice and exact revenge against Ziggy's killers. After reading the article, Floyd felt a sinking sensation in his stomach- freeing Ziggy's body from the capital would be a lot of work. But now, he was even more dedicated to his idea, if such a thing was possible. Floyd felt driven by a force outside of himself to return to America, obtain Ziggy's body, and give him the proper burial he deserved in the place he loved- Mars. It was a nigh impossible plan to pull off, but Floyd felt that not only would Ziggy's soul never be at rest if his wishes weren't respected, but Floyd's soul as well would be dissatisfied. He didn't know why he felt this way, but he had a feeling that not only would he be making up for what he had done in America- not preventing Ziggy's death when he could have- but he would also be finally putting the dreams that plagued him at night to rest. Maybe the memory of Ziggy would fade, or would lose its painful edge if Floyd buried him.

_Shame they performed an autopsy, _Floyd thought sadly. He knew that it was an obvious action to take, to see if Ziggy's body contained any more abnormalities besides the white blood, but he felt that Ziggy would have wanted his body to stay intact for a burial. Another line from the article deeply bothered him- gossip was abounding that D.C.'s scientists were trying to cultivate the remainder of Ziggy's blood to test its healing power and possibly develop a medicine made out of it. _How is that ethical? _Floyd thought, and then remembered the less-than-ethical means that the doctors in America had used on him- forcing him to perform by giving him drugs that were improperly prescribed to him.

"This is such a mess," Floyd said. "I can't believe no one is protesting against what they're doing to Ziggy's body. You don't just cut up your favorite rock star and examine him when he dies."

"You do when he's died under mysterious circumstances, Floyd," Audrey replied. "Not to mention that he's obviously not human. I think everyone is too scared by that thought to protest anything."

"One thing's for sure," Floyd muttered. "This isn't going to help save the world."

"That was never your goal, though," Audrey pointed out, startled by the biting depth of disgust in Floyd's voice. At that, he turned his head to look her straight in the eye, devotion and frenzied passion burning behind his own.

"No, it was Ziggy's. My goal is to take him back to Mars." Floyd swallowed and leaned forward, taking Audrey's cool hand in his warm one. "And I think I know how we're going to do that."

"Are you going to hijack a spacecraft?" Audrey muttered amusedly, though with a slight edge to her tone. Floyd shook his head and stood up, making for the front door.

"That's not necessary. Not when we have one to use in our own backyard." He slipped his coat on and grabbed his scarf, wrapping it several times around his bare neck. "Come along with me, Audrey. There's something I have to show you."

"Are we there yet?" Audrey asked Floyd, only half-joking, as he led her by the hand through the icy, slush-covered woods, both of them huffing and puffing.

"It's not long now," Floyd tried to reassure his wife, and broke through an opening in the trees that he had just spied. At once Audrey caught her breath at the sight and let go of Floyd's hand, blinking to make sure the weak sun wasn't obscuring her view. What stood in front of the Pinkertons looked like an enormous snowdrift, half-buried in the frozen precipitation. However, the broken glass windows and glinting metal told her otherwise. There was no mistaking Ziggy's spacecraft, a battered vehicle that had been badly burned in Earth's atmosphere, yet was still in mostly one piece.

Floyd breathed into his hands and coughed, then tilted his head sideways to watch Audrey's reaction. "What do you think?"

"You're going to repair Ziggy's spacecraft and use it to fly to Mars?" Audrey stated, puzzled.

Floyd grinned, and the expression looked incredibly odd on him. "Exactly. I guess you can call it the second half of my Christmas present."

"Floyd…" Audrey couldn't help herself from approaching the spacecraft and softly stroking its shiny metal exterior. "This is…"

"Insane?"

"How are you going to learn to fly a spacecraft?" Audrey blurted, stopping the motion of her hand to stare over at Floyd. The smile faded on his lips, and he inhaled before leaving footprints in the snow, stepping over the cold ground to reach her.

"I don't know how I'm going to do any of this, Audrey. I just know it has to happen. There's a stirring in my soul that's practically begging me, urging me to continue with this plan, and I can't ignore it. I don't care how crazy you think I am, or how hard to achieve the goals are. It's going to happen." Floyd reached out and cupped Audrey's face in his hands. "Do you still love me?"

"I'll always love you, Floyd," Audrey said, although she was beginning to question him and doubt herself. She pushed all of the troubling thoughts away and forced a small smile to appear on her lips.

"Then you should love me enough to be honest with me," Floyd murmured softly. "You should love me enough to have the strength to walk away. If you want to hop off-board this decision anytime, Audrey, I completely understand."

"Oh, Floyd…" Audrey couldn't resist stroking his cheek and peering into those gorgeous, piercing brown eyes. "I'm not going to leave you now. Not when you need me."

Floyd nodded once and suddenly kissed her, his mouth reflecting immediate joy. Audrey sighed against him, surrendering, part of her filled with pleasure and part of her filled with exhaustion. She couldn't keep standing by Floyd like this for the last four years of their mutual existence, and she knew she had to tell him eventually. But the last time she had left him alone, he had nearly gone and gotten killed.

When Floyd pulled away, Audrey clung to his hand and rested her head beneath his chin. Floyd stroked her shoulders and murmured in her ear, "I promise, Audrey, it will be done, and then we can rest for whatever amount of time we have left."

Audrey nodded against Floyd's chest. "I'm right behind you, Floyd. I always have been and always will be."

Later in the day, Audrey was startled by the sight of a pair of headlights piercing through the snowfall. "Someone's coming up here," she said. "Look, Floyd."

Floyd peered out the window. "Who would be coming to visit us? No one but us and the realtors even knows this house exists."

The vehicle stopped, and Audrey sighed as the driver got out and made for the mailbox. "It's just the mail truck."

"Who would be sending us letters?" Floyd stated. "No one but us and the realtors even knows this address."

The mailman got back into the truck and pulled away.

"Well, let's find out," Audrey said, going to the door. She pulled on her coat and rushed outside. When she came back, she was holding a rather large white envelope, damp from the snow. "Here, Floyd. It's addressed to you." Floyd took the letter and stared confusedly at the return address. There was no name, only "M/X." The address was from America, in the state of Pennsylvania. Floyd sat down on the couch, opened the envelope, and pulled out the first item inside- a Polaroid photograph of two very familiar faces.

The person on the left was a young woman. Her hair was light brown and fell to her shoulders. She wore a blue cap with a pom-pom on the top, a white shirt that said M on it in black lettering, and a dark blue jacket. She was smiling and leaning into the person on the right, who had his arm around her. His head was uncovered, revealing short black spikes of hair. His jacket was splattered in what looked like paint, and his shirt was white and had an X on it in black lettering. His left arm was outstretched, presumably to hold the camera that had taken the photo. Both teenagers were smiling happily. Behind them was the sight of evergreen trees- it appeared that the photo had been taken on top of a hill.

"Mylo and Xyloto," Floyd whispered. He had forgotten that he had given Xyloto his address. He hadn't thought about either of them in so long, presuming that they had perished in the wilderness.

Enclosed along with the photograph was a long letter. Floyd unfolded it and read to himself:

_Merry Christmas, Floyd!_

_This is Mylo here- do you remember me at all? Haha, it hasn't been that long. I hope you will receive this letter soon- as there's been no contact between us and you since October, I have no way of knowing where you are. Thank God Xyloto had your address!_

_Anyway, I am writing to let you know that we are thankfully alive. Well, obviously, since I'm writing a letter right now! After seeing you and Ziggy off on your venture into Suffragette City- how was that by the way? If you're still there I guess you can't respond to that question- Xyloto and I headed off on our big adventure. Did you know, as we walked along, we eventually stumbled upon civilization? There were actually drivers around who wanted to help us. So we hitchhiked most of the way through the East Coast. As you can see from the return address, our final resting place has come to be Pennsylvania. There's an entire colony of people out here in the woods- apparently on the day that New York City disappeared, there were minor catastrophes in other cities along the East Coast, such as earthquakes and freak hurricanes. It's thrown the entire country (or at least the East Coast, as we haven't really had contact with any other parts of the country yet; most of the telephone lines have been severed) into disarray. Some have tried to rebuild the cities while others, fearing the apocalypse, have escaped to build their own little communities in the wild. That's where Xyloto and I are now. We've come to love it here. There's just enough food and water for us to get by, and even a radio._

_Speaking of the radio, we've heard of Ziggy's success as a rock star from listening to it. They played his music all the time- all I can say is, he was amazing, so much better than I ever guessed from hearing him sing to us. Although I did get kind of sick of 'Changes!' However, we also heard one day the news that Ziggy has apparently died? The DJ reported that he was killed onstage, and they played his entire album in memory. If that's true, Xyloto and I are very sorry for your loss, Floyd. Ziggy didn't deserve to die. I didn't know him very well, but I certainly respected and looked up to him. I know Xyloto did too._

_And speaking of Xyloto… He and I are getting along just fine, just as in love as we were since you left us. Which reminds me, I hope you've gotten home safely to your wife. I also hope this letter reaches you by Christmas time!_

_If you do get this letter in time, I'd like to make an offer. You should come visit us sometime. Of course, there'd be no way of getting back, as we obviously don't have planes out here, but Xyloto and I would love for you to see what sort of home we're living in now. It's much better than the gang's house! If you feel up to it, you should come out here._

_Happy holidays! Here's to four more of them!_

_Sincerely,_

_Mylo Berryman & Xyloto Martin_

Floyd had to smile a bit wryly as he read the letter. He hadn't known Mylo to be this scatterbrained when they'd lived together.

"Who is it from?" Audrey asked.

"Friends," Floyd replied, setting the letter down. "Friends from America."

"You have such things?" Audrey said, gently teasing.

"Yes," said Floyd. "Mylo and Xyloto." He proceeded to remind Audrey that they were the two teenagers who had led him and Ziggy to Suffragette City. "Mylo's from the suburbs and Xyloto lived with the gang in the middle of nowhere. It was Xyloto who originally decided to leave the gang and asked us to join him. He wanted to track down Mylo, who had been wrongly blamed for initiating the battle between the drivers and exiled from the gang, because he was in love with her."

"Why did you give them our address?" Audrey asked, surprised that Floyd, who had always been so careful with not revealing his location or identity, would do such a thing for random strangers.

Floyd sighed. "I was afraid that I would never hear from them again, and I wanted to know if they'd gotten out of the wilderness all right." He then read Mylo's letter aloud to Audrey. When he was finished, Audrey said, "I suppose you're going to take them up on their offer?"

"What offer?"

"They invited you to come visit them in America," Audrey said. "I know you hate America, and that you've just been there recently, but if you want to rescue Ziggy's body, you might as well drop in to see Mylo and Xyloto along the way."

Floyd blinked. Of course!- why hadn't he considered doing that… Audrey had stated it plainly: If Floyd was about to undertake a massive scheme, he would need backup. And Xyloto and Mylo, who had known Ziggy when he was alive, would most likely be behind his idea. They could assist Floyd in his foolhardy plan.

"My God, Audrey, you're brilliant," Floyd said, and then relayed his train of thought to her. Audrey's eyes widened.

"Floyd, you're not really thinking of dragging these teenagers into it…"

"Why not?" Floyd said. "We'll be dragging Eva into it as well, if this thing ever kicks off. We can't leave her alone here. There's no one to look after her."

Audrey took Floyd's hand and sat for a moment in silence before saying, "I can see your reasoning behind this, but the more people you bring into this, the messier it becomes. If we can't obtain the body through legal means…"

"I'll steal it myself," Floyd said. "That's what I need Mylo and Xyloto for. We need backup if there's going to be a break-in."

Audrey suddenly gripped Floyd's hand tightly. "Floyd- Floyd, listen for a moment and think about what you're saying. You've been in hiding here in Somerset for six years because you've believed yourself to be a mass murderer. Why are you now so willing to risk your life to break the law? It's not wise to rush into this sort of thing. If we can't obtain the body by legal means, I would say we must give up."

"No, Audrey," Floyd said. He removed her hand and took her face in his hands. "Listen to _me. _I'm going to write a response to Mylo saying that I'd love to come visit her and Xyloto, and I'm going to mail it tonight. If she replies saying that it's all right for us to visit, all three of us- you, me, and Eva- are going to fly to America. Then we'll meet up and make a plan. I'm not going to put us in the line of danger. But at the same time, I am prepared to take illegal actions to free Ziggy's body if that's what it takes."

Audrey said nothing. After waiting for a response, Floyd eventually let go of her, never moving his eyes from her face.

"If you're not behind me anymore, Audrey, I understand," he said quietly. "But I can't do this alone."

Audrey's lips pressed into a hard, firm line. "Give me a moment to make a decision, Floyd," she said. "Just wait for a bit." She stood up and walked over to Eva, who was happily scribbling away on her paper. Floyd watched for a moment, until it became clear that he was not needed. He stood and retreated upstairs to wait on Audrey's response.

It took a lot of discussion that night for Floyd to convince Audrey to support him. They talked long into the night, finally retiring at 2 AM. The next morning, Floyd sat down to write a letter.

_Dear Mylo,_

_It's very nice to hear from you again. I'm glad to learn that you and Xyloto are all right. I am safely at home with my family, and we've had a lovely Christmas. Thank you for your condolences about Ziggy._

_My wife and I are willing to visit you sometime next month. Let us know when the best time would be. We're going to stay in America for a while._

_Thank you, happy holidays, and a merry New Year,_

_Floyd Pinkerton (Pink Floyd)_

Audrey and Floyd toasted the year 1987 with straight water. All the liquor stores in town had been shut down, as there were no longer enough available goods to keep them afloat. Whenever Audrey went into town, looking to buy meager supplies with her overabundance of cash, she could feel the eyes of the storekeepers watching her closely. Before the aftereffects of the five-year-deadline had diminished the goods and racked up the prices of those available, Audrey had merely been one more shopper, no one who would stick out in a crowd. Now, however, as more and more people stored up food in their houses and stayed off the streets, ignoring the ratcheting prices and soaring unemployment, Audrey found herself to be an anomaly. Her presence in town, looking for things to buy when there weren't any, signaled to the people who caught sight of her that firstly, she was unprepared for the oncoming widespread lack of resources that was sure to begin any day now; secondly, that she was a stranger in this town, as she only appeared on the streets occasionally and wasn't a familiar face in the community; and lastly and most importantly, that she obviously had enough money to buy the things she looked for, or she wouldn't be trying to in the first place.

It had been this observation of Audrey's- noticing that people were noticing her- that gave the final push in her decision to pack up everything and head off to America with Floyd. Everywhere she went, she could feel the angry stares of the civilians on her back. Sooner or later they would realize where she was coming from each day, and might go to such lengths as to follow her home and try to rob either her money or her supplies. Though there weren't full-scale riots in Bath as there had been in London, the people were desperate enough to get their hands on any form of wealth. And to them, Audrey would be a threat, someone who hoarded up all the supplies she could without sharing any of it. She had to leave the place behind before it was taken over by unknown hands.

_Little do they know the reason why I have so much money, _Audrey thought despondently. The Pinkertons were still living off of the wealth that Floyd had accumulated all those years ago, the wealth that came from four bestselling musical albums and corresponding tours, not to mention all the other kinds of merchandise sold by Pink Floyd's promoters. They even continued to receive royalties from radio airplay, as Floyd's mysterious disappearance from the public eye had only made his music more popular.

So that was it, then. Audrey had finally convinced herself that leaving for America would be the best thing to do at the onset of the last four years of Earth's life. Come what may, Audrey knew that she would always have Floyd and Eva with her. Even if they didn't survive the four years- even if their lives were cut short prematurely- it was better to be with her family than to let Floyd go alone. And Floyd was very determined. Audrey remembered how the period of time when she'd assumed Floyd to be dead had nearly killed her, and how anxious she had been each day to receive Floyd's next letter when he revealed he was alive. She couldn't let him leave her again, and she was unable to leave him. And besides, it was better to have a plan during the next four years than to stumble on blindly through life, waiting for things to get worse.

Just four months ago, Audrey had been sitting in an outdoor arena with Ziggy and Eva, watching Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band play. Just a few weeks after that, she had been back in that arena with Eva and Floyd, enjoying the sensual experience of seeing Ziggy Stardust perform. What had become of those days when the fears of the common people could be assuaged by the promise of music? Audrey felt the answer inside of her. Their hope had died alongside Ziggy. They had placed all of their faith in their alien, leper messiah, and when he had been murdered, they'd realized that not even the holiest-seeming of figures was immune to disaster. The people had had a crisis of faith, and now there was no hope for music to save them. Unless Pink Floyd decided to come out of retirement.

Audrey had spoken to Floyd about his proposition- he had claimed he would reenter the music business if that was what it took to free Ziggy's body from its captors. What he had overlooked was that he could, in a sense, replace Ziggy Stardust as a leader of the people. The public would reject any new stars, seeing them as Ziggy wannabes. What they needed was someone familiar, someone who could prove to them that he was on their side. They needed a shock, and that shock was Pink.

Audrey had told Floyd about her idea, but he was strangely reluctant. "We'll see if that happens," he said. "Our first matter on hand is retrieving and respecting Ziggy's body."

Whatever the order of priorities was, Audrey was certain that she and Floyd could weather this storm. She would follow him in his crazy scheme if that was what it took to put his mind at rest. Further planning would come later.

"Here's to four more years of life," Floyd murmured in Audrey's ear after they had drunk their toast.

"Thank you," she whispered. "We've got four years."

"That's all we've got," Floyd agreed. They turned out the lights and went to bed.


	30. A Sense of Yesteryear

Chapter Twenty-Nine: _A Sense of Yesteryear_

_Dear Floyd,_

_This is Xyloto here. Mylo and I would love you to come out to America. Any time will do. We're looking forward to meeting your family!_

_By "Pink Floyd," did you mean the singer? I've heard his music on the radio before. It's funny how similar his name is to yours._

_Well, hope to be seeing you soon!_

_Sincerely,_

_Xyloto Martin_

Floyd took a few days to repair Ziggy's spacecraft before receiving Xyloto's letter. He instructed Audrey into town and bring back as much scrap metal as she could find, even if that meant having to loot derelict buildings. Audrey sucked up her pride and headed out that afternoon, only to come back late at night, pale-faced and shaken. In turn, Floyd was shocked to see her in such a state, and only got her to calm down enough to talk after running a lukewarm bath for her. Sitting side by side in the tub, Audrey told Floyd all of the gory details of her trip to town. "They saw me coming and chased me down the street. I managed to retrieve some supplies, but I barely escaped with my life." She lowered her head, trembling as Floyd rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm not going back there again."

And so Floyd had to finish Audrey's business by driving into town for the first time in several years. He decided it was better to go earlier in the morning, where no one would see him digging up the foundations of old buildings. It was a shock to see how awfully the town had been destroyed by rioting individuals who wanted supplies. Floyd gathered what he would need with an inhuman intuition, knowing instinctively what he would need to repair the spacecraft. He drove back without causing a ruckus and spent the rest of the day working out of doors. It was only two days later that he finished patching it up, and on the same day found Xyloto's letter in the mail. On the day before departure, Floyd transferred all personal belongings inside the Pinkertons' house to the spacecraft, which was hidden away and less likely to be raided than their dwelling.

The Pinkertons packed up their belongings, locked up the house, and headed for the Bath train station on January 8th, 1987. Coincidentally, the date happened to be Ziggy Stardust's birthday, but as he hadn't told Floyd when he was alive and neglected to mention it in his diary, neither Audrey nor Floyd was aware of the significance. Eva was looking forward to going on a "big adventure," as Audrey had described their trip to her. "We're going to a country called America," she told her daughter as they sat in the terminal, waiting for a train to come down the tracks. "We're going to meet some of Daddy's friends who live there."

The train eventually did come, but it didn't speed down the tracks as Floyd had expected it to. Instead, it limped languidly along, as if there was no hurry and even less fuel. When the Pinkertons boarded the train, they were surprised to find that there were so little passengers on board. Apparently London was not a place where most people from Somerset wanted to go nowadays.

London was looking even more desolate than it had the last time Floyd had visited. Many more buildings had been burned down, and some even looked like bombs had hit them. As Floyd led Audrey and Eva down the street, the family was stopped by the front door of a shop banging open and several people rushing out carrying bags flowing with items, apparently stolen from the store. Seconds later, the store's owner rushed out after them, yelling, "Come back here! Come back right now…" But the thieves had made off with their loot, and weren't going to heed the order. The store owner sank to the ground, stricken with grief. Floyd herded Audrey and Eva around her, wishing he could do something to help but knowing it would be impossible. He wondered if those cowardly, pathetic thieves who hadn't even bothered to disguise their identities would fight over their spoils later, and shuddered at the thought.

By contrast, the London airport was packed and bustling as people hurried to leave the godforsaken city. It didn't take long at all for the Pinkertons to settle onto the plane headed for Pennsylvania, in America. Floyd closed his eyes as the pilot's voice told everyone to fasten their seatbelts. He was uncomfortably reminded of the failed trip to America in August. Audrey squeezed his hand, knowing what was going through his mind. "It's all right, Floyd. What are the chances of this one breaking down?"

All Floyd could say was, "Don't tempt fate."

Fortunately, the plane landed safe and sound in the Pennsylvania airport, right on time. The Pinkertons stepped off the plane and surveyed their surroundings while other passengers rushed out. "Is anyone here to pick us up?" Audrey asked Floyd. She hadn't gotten the entire jist of the journey yet.

"Someone's supposed to be," Floyd responded. "Xyloto said he would meet us in the airport terminal." He scanned the crowd, searching for Xyloto's familiar black hair and paint-stained clothing. Eva dozed in Audrey's arms as they searched.

Finally, Floyd spotted a head of black, spiky hair in the crowd, hair that looked very familiar. He moved forward, and as he did so, the owner of the hair looked up, revealing shining green eyes. His face broke into a smile. "Floyd!" Floyd and Xyloto surged towards each other and shook hands.

"Hello, Xyloto. It's great to see you again," Floyd said with a smile. He sized up his old acquaintance with warm regard. Xyloto had grown about an inch since they'd last seen each other, which was surprising given his age of 18 years (now 19; Floyd remembered Xyloto saying that he and Mylo were both born on October 24th), and his skin had become even darker in color, turning from a warm pink to a deep tan. His clothing was familiar though- same old X shirt and paint-stained jeans, and the smile on his face was definitely the same. His hair had grown less spiky and more shaggy.

"Same here, Floyd!" Xyloto said, beaming. "Where's your family?"

Floyd gestured. "Over there. Come on, I'll introduce them." He led Xyloto over to where Audrey and Eva were waiting. Once Audrey caught sight of Xyloto, she broke into a friendly smile. "Hello. I take it this must be Xyloto?"

"Yes, ma'am, that's me," Xyloto said, looking up at the woman. "Xyloto Martin."

"Xyloto, this is my wife, Audrey, and my daughter Eva," Floyd said, presenting them. Audrey extended a hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Xyloto."

"Thank you, ma'am," he responded. Audrey shook hands with him. "You can call me Audrey if you'd like!"

"Where's Mylo?" Floyd asked Xyloto.

"She's at the camp," Xyloto said. "I think we'd better get going. The car's in the parking lot; I'll drive."

"You know how to drive?" Floyd said.

Xyloto shrugged. "Sure. I learned from the people who picked us up when we were hitchhiking. Of course, I'm not going to go running people off the roads." He gave Floyd a knowing smirk. Floyd just barely returned it. "Come on now, let's go!" The Pinkertons allowed themselves to be led out of the airport and into the parking lot by Xyloto, where Audrey and Eva climbed into the backseat of Xyloto's car and Floyd sat up front, watching as Xyloto buckled his seatbelt and turned the key in the ignition. They took off down the battered, broken road.

"What is your new home like?" Floyd asked Xyloto to fill up an unusual silence.

Xyloto smiled as he peered through the windshield. "It's like Paradise, as Mylo calls it. We live out in the wilderness, in a camp. It's almost like living with the gang, except that things are done more democratically and we're not as close to civilization. We don't have an official leader."

"How do you get petrol for the cars?" Audrey asked, leaning forward.

"You mean gasoline? We hoard it up. There's a huge scarcity of it at the moment, so a lot of our days are spent searching the wreckage of the towns for any kind of fuel. But not all of us have cars anyway, and very few of us drive them."

"I see," Audrey said. She paused. "Is your hiding place a safe one?"

"Definitely," Xyloto said. "Why?"

"We've got- well, I've got a plan that I want to set in motion during our stay here," Floyd said quietly. "It might be dangerous. I'll explain everything once we get to our location."

"Okay," Xyloto said, unsure. He hadn't known that there would be ulterior motives for Floyd's bringing his family back to America. He'd assumed that Floyd just wanted to visit, to introduce his wife and child to the people he'd met in America, and maybe to get his mind off of the death of Ziggy. Xyloto had seen how close the two were when Ziggy was alive, and he was sure that Floyd had taken the murder hard. He had no idea just _how _hard.

"You're a good driver," Floyd said approvingly as Xyloto turned a corner. Xyloto laughed. "Thanks…" His mind drifted. "Want the radio on?"

"No, thank you," Floyd said. "Audrey?"

"I don't care," Audrey said.

Xyloto inched his foot a bit farther down on the gas pedal. "You know, that reminds me… I asked in my last letter to you whether your signature had anything to do with Pink Floyd. Or were you just making a pun?"

Audrey felt a shock run through her. Had Floyd really revealed his identity to this young man?

"What do you know about Pink Floyd?" Floyd asked casually.

"Not much. I know I don't really like his music," Xyloto snorted. "I've been hearing this one song, 'Another Brick In The Wall,' over and over again on the radio, and it's driving me crazy."

Floyd glanced in the mirror to check and see that Eva was still asleep. In the reflection, Audrey's eyes spoke volumes. _What are you doing, Floyd? _She seemed to be saying. _Haven't you always relished anonymity? _Floyd tried to wordlessly apologize to her. He was a different man now than the one Audrey had grown used to.

"Xyloto," Floyd said softly. "I signed the letter 'Pink Floyd' because I am Pink Floyd. Or was, anyway." He waited for the memories to come, but they seemed to refuse tormenting him, leaving a strange empty space, much like the absence of a brick in his old wall.

"What?" Xyloto blurted, his voice containing a hint of humor. "You're kidding, right? You're not that singer on the radio."

"I never told you before because I was afraid of revealing my identity to the public," Floyd said. "But I can handle telling you now. If you want I can give you a live performance of 'Another Brick' to prove it."

"But you aren't even a singer," Xyloto said, confused. "The only time I heard you sing, it was because Ziggy forced you to."

"You're right; I'm not a singer," Floyd said. "But I was, and I'm planning on becoming one again if the situation calls for it. Trust me on this, Xyloto. When I was in Suffragette City, there were plenty of people who recognized me, but I had to convince them they were wrong."

Xyloto said nothing before sighing. "Sure, I guess I believe you," he said. "What happened in Suffragette City?"

"I'd prefer to tell you about it when we get to your camp," Floyd said.

Xyloto suddenly broke out laughing. "Well, that's convenient! We're already here." He parked the car, and the Pinkertons were faced with the sight of tall pine trees bared menacingly over a forest.

"This is where you live?" Audrey stated, shocked.

"Yeah. The camp is deeper into the woods." Xyloto unbuckled his seatbelt. "Just follow me."

After traveling through the undergrowth for a while, Audrey, Eva, Floyd, and Xyloto came across a clearing in the woods. The clearing was populated by people in sleeping bags and tents, lying under the stars. No one came up to greet the newcomers- no one, that is, but a familiar young woman. "Xyloto! You're back!"

Xyloto rushed forward, taking his girlfriend in his arms. "Mylo," he breathed. "It's so great to see you." He kissed her and then pulled away to present the Pinkertons. "Look who I've brought with me."

"Oh!" Mylo exclaimed. She shrugged out of Xyloto's embrace and raced up to Floyd and his family. "Hi Floyd! It's so nice to see you again. Who are these?"

"Hello, Mylo," Floyd said. "This is my wife, Audrey, and my daughter, Eva."

Mylo shook hands with them. "It's so nice to meet you," she said, smiling warmly. Audrey replied that yes, it was nice to meet Mylo as well. Mylo nodded and turned back to Xyloto.

"Well, this is it- our camp." She swept her arms wide, indicating the entire clearing. "I hope you brought sleeping bags with you. We're camping out."

"Unfortunately, no," Floyd said. "Someone neglected to tell us that we would need them." He mock-glared at Xyloto and Mylo. Mylo sighed, and Xyloto rolled his eyes.

"We'll get things sorted out. What would you like to do now?"

"I'd like to rest for a bit," Audrey said. "Settle down somewhere." Eva tugged on her hand, and Audrey leaned over as Eva whispered in her ear.

"Eva would like to settle down too," Audrey said, straightening back up.

Mylo and Xyloto looked at Floyd, who ran his fingers through his hair. "As for me, I'd prefer to talk to you," he said. "Answer all of your questions." He looked at Audrey. "You go take Eva to a place to rest, love."

"I would if I knew where to go," she replied dryly. Mylo stepped forward. "I'll show you. Xyloto, you take Floyd to our tent."

"Thank you," Floyd said, kissing Audrey on the cheek before she and Eva were led off by Mylo. Xyloto looked up at Floyd and squared his shoulders. "Okay, come on. Our tent is this way." He led Floyd into the throng of people, none of whom gave Floyd any second glances, and into a big white tent in the middle of the ground.

"Who are all these people?" Floyd asked when he was safely inside the tent. The only furnishings were two sleeping bags. Xyloto sat down on the ground.

"They're people who were forced out of their homes after Pittsburgh was destroyed," he replied. "Some of the survivors ran off to starve, but some of them came out here and started their own community. And here we are."

"Does it get lonely?" Floyd asked. Xyloto shrugged. "About as lonely as it was when I lived with the gang in the suburbs. We mind our own business here, but we're all pretty much friends with each other."

Just then, Mylo came bustling through the flaps of the tent, sitting down gently on a sleeping bag. "Audrey and Eva are settled in," she reported. "They're on the outskirts of the camp, in a thicket of bushes. I'm sorry we can't provide anything more comfortable for you."

"That's all right," Floyd said. "I understand that you have limitations."

"Yes, we do," Mylo said, while Xyloto spoke up- "Floyd, can you tell us all about your plan for America, and your time in Suffragette City? I'm sorry, I just want to catch up on your life…"

"I'd be honored," Floyd said. "I'll tell you everything." And he did.

He started off by explaining how his life with Ziggy in Suffragette City had gone. He spoke of getting a humble job in a local coffeehouse while Ziggy pursued his musical ambitions. Floyd's descriptions were short and to the point. He didn't mention that he had fallen in love with Ziggy. All he said was that he had slowly watched as Ziggy became corrupted by sex, drugs, and rock and roll, until his life was out of control and his bandmates wanted to kill him. Floyd skimmed over his kidnapping by the (possible) Spiders From Mars, and summarized Ziggy's death in a few short sentences. He then explained that after coming home to Audrey and trying to deal with his grief, he had come up with the idea to obtain Ziggy's body from the nation's capital, highly guarded with security, and give him a proper burial on Mars, as per Ziggy's suggestions from his diary. Floyd even had the diary with him to show Mylo and Xyloto.

At the end of his tale, Floyd revealed to Mylo that he had been a popular rock star once, and told the both of them that he was prepared to come out of retirement if that was what it took to free Ziggy's body. He sang 'Another Brick In The Wall' to confirm his identity, and then performed 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond' to explain his tribute to Ziggy and how he had started writing songs again. When Floyd was finished talking, Mylo and Xyloto stared silently at him, their hands clasped together.

"I don't know what to think," Mylo finally said, and Xyloto agreed- "This is a lot to take in at once, Floyd."

"Guys," Floyd said softly. "I want to request your help with my idea. I have a feeling that the government won't let me obtain Ziggy's body through legal means, and if they don't, I'm willing to break into the containment area and steal his body from them. But I need backup for this plan, and I need to familiarize myself with the area before making any rash decisions. That's where you guys come in. I need you to assist me in the break-in, if it comes to that."

"How are you so sure it will come to that?" Mylo asked.

"And why us?" Xyloto added.

Floyd looked from one pair of eyes to the other. "Simply put, you are the only two people I know and trust here in America. Add your experience with fighting from the gang, and I believe we have a good group for a break-in, especially if any people from your camp decide to join us. As to why I think it will come to a break-in, it's obvious if you've read the papers- the government shows no sign of relinquishing Ziggy's body, even to those with lots of money like I've got or even to those who claim to be his family and could prove it, as I might be able to. There's talk that the government is trying to mass-produce a medicine based off of Ziggy's blood, which has miraculous-seeming healing qualities."

"They're doing _that?" _Mylo gasped, her face turning pale. "We haven't seen a newspaper in weeks… That's- that's insane!"

"I know it is," Floyd replied grimly. He hoped he had convinced her to get onboard with him. However, he could tell from one look at Xyloto that he was having doubts about committing. "Floyd…" Xyloto said slowly. "Let us think for a moment, okay? This plan of yours sounds really crazy, actually. How do we get his body to Mars?"

"We'll work it out," Floyd said. "I've repaired his spacecraft, and I'm going to try and fly it to Mars. Like I said before, if there are no legal means of obtaining what we need…"

"I think it sounds half-baked," Xyloto said, crossing his arms. "No offense. But for one thing, Mylo and I have no real obligations to you. We aren't indebted to you in any way that would allow us to join your plan. If you want help, you should get it from someone else you can rely on, who has a real reason to support you."

At that, Floyd's eyes flashed. "I have no one else," he said sharply. "My parents are both dead. Ziggy is dead. Audrey and Eva are the only ones I can rely on now, and do you think they'll be able to help out with what I want to do? I have no friends but my family, and you guys."

"Floyd, I don't think it's right to ask for our help before taking any action in your plan," Xyloto said. "You don't even know if there's going to be a break-in. And if there is, it's pointless to endanger our lives and the lives of the people who live at this camp, who I'm pretty sure won't want to help out anyway… Honestly, are you sure this is a good idea? I think you should give it time and really think about what it is you want to do before launching action."

Floyd stared. _Since when did you become so smart? _It wasn't just Xyloto's physical appearance that had changed since they'd seen each other- now Xyloto seemed to think he knew everything, trying to be rational and tell Floyd, his senior, what to do. But as Audrey had pointed out recently, Floyd had never been one for common sense, and he certainly wasn't going to allow Xyloto, who was still a teenager, to tell him to give it time and think it over. Floyd had already given the idea time, and he knew that what he wanted to do was right. Why did no one else seem to agree with him? Did the plan really sound so risky and outlandish?

"Xyloto, I've given it enough time," Floyd said. "I know that this is what I want to do."

"Well, I'm not denying that," Xyloto said, "but the whole thing is just so strange… There are better ways of honoring Ziggy than stealing his body and burying it on his home planet. God, Floyd, you've written a song in honor of him. You can write more and fill out an entire album. That, I think, would be a much better tribute."

"Oh, what do you know about tributes?" Floyd spat. "What do you know about anything? You're only nineteen years old, Xyloto. You've never had anyone you loved die in your life… You've never had the guilt of their death on your hands."

Xyloto suddenly winced, and Mylo squeezed his hand tighter, staring into his eyes. Pain filled his expression for a moment.

"Actually, I do," Xyloto muttered. "The seven boys that the drivers murdered. Remember that?"

Floyd suddenly felt very ashamed of himself. He had completely forgotten about the massacre that the drivers had led, and he hadn't stopped to think of how Xyloto might have taken it.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. Xyloto's face relaxed, but there was still a pain behind his eyes. "It's all right. That was a while ago…"

"No, my comment was childish and uncalled for," Floyd said. "It's just- if you read Ziggy's diary, you'll understand why I can't let this go." He tapped the leather-bound notebook that he held in his hands. "I would love to make an album as a memorial to Ziggy, but that will have to come after my plan. Just read it, guys. It will convince you to change your minds." He set Ziggy's diary down in front of him. Neither Mylo nor Xyloto made a move to take it.

"All right," Xyloto said finally. "We'll read it. But… just tell me you didn't just come up with this idea as a way of dealing with your grief for Ziggy."

Floyd flinched. "No," he said. "I've dealt with my grief already. It's my guilt that I have to face now."

He crawled out of the tent. "I'll let you read his diary, and then I'll come back tomorrow morning. Remember, you don't have to agree to help me."

_You're the one making it sound like we don't have a choice, _Xyloto thought, but all he said was "Okay. See you in the morning, Floyd."

"Goodnight," Floyd said, standing up and walking off to go join Audrey and Eva in the thicket. Once he was gone, Mylo snuggled up against Xyloto with a sad sigh. "Let's get reading, then."

As Floyd walked, he had the uncomfortable hair-standing-up-on-the-back-of-his-neck feeling that someone was watching him. He had always been sensitive to being watched, but looking around, there was no sign of anyone around. They were all fast asleep under the stars. Floyd walked on, telling himself it was all in his mind. He reached the thicket soon and crawled into the bushes to join Audrey, the feeling subsiding a bit but not entirely diminishing.

"Audrey?" Floyd whispered. She was curled up on her side, fast asleep, but started a bit under his touch. "Mmm… oh, it's you," Audrey mumbled sleepily. "Come lie down, love. It's time to sleep."

Floyd lay down and wrapped his arms around Audrey. "Where is Eva?"

"Mmm," was all she said. "She's here…"

Floyd kissed the back of Audrey's neck. "Pretty shabby place, if I do say so myself," he murmured. "I guess we won't be making love anytime soon." Even if the ground hadn't been blanketed in rough grass, it would have been freezing without clothes on.

Audrey giggled under her breath. "You and your sexual obsession. Go to sleep." And holding her tighter, Floyd ended up doing just that.

The Pinkertons didn't get a chance to have sex that night, but another couple in camp succeeded in doing so- namely, Mylo and Xyloto. Afterwards, Xyloto handed Mylo's clothes to her with a sigh. "Floyd expects us to be reading. Let's get to it." Mylo said nothing, her hands shaking as she dressed again. She could feel that any day now, Xyloto would discover her secret, a secret which she was working so hard in preserving. If he knew what she knew, what would he say?

They sat down and read the diary together, almost as one person. It took them a long time, but at the end of it Mylo for one was convinced that Floyd's idea was the best. Xyloto had to think for a while longer, after Mylo had fallen asleep in his arms. He had liked Ziggy well enough when he'd known him- he had always been friendly and kind, and a great person to have around during spray paint raids. And the news of his death had been truly shocking. Xyloto would have liked to participate in anything that would honor Ziggy, but not this kind of thing. This idea was too dangerous. Xyloto wanted to spend the last four years of his life with Mylo, not orchestrated according to Floyd's less-than-stable mind. Really, coming out of retirement to make a tribute album for Ziggy Stardust was a much more reasonable idea than stealing his body from the government and trying to bury him on Mars. But Floyd seemed dead-set on his idea. It was almost as if someone or something was forcing him to do it besides his own free will.

Whenever Xyloto tried to think of a kind way to tell Floyd that he was sorry, he wasn't interested in accompanying Floyd on his journey, though, his mind kept returning to Ziggy's written words, which he had read that night. Ziggy had certainly wanted to be buried on Mars, and he had claimed his soul would never be at rest if he wasn't. The way Floyd was behaving, it was almost as if it was Floyd's soul that he wanted to put to rest with his idea.

Xyloto curled around the sleeping Mylo, still thinking. Mylo had seemed converted into thinking this was a good idea and that she should help Floyd after reading Ziggy's diary. Eventually, Xyloto gave up and decided that if Mylo wanted to do it, he would too, no matter what his true desires were. He loved Mylo enough that he couldn't let her do anything without him.

_I've already gone insane once, _Floyd thought just before he fell asleep. _This is not insanity. This is what happens when your mind has no limits. _He slowly sank into a sleep that was full of dreams, none of which were his own.

Mylo woke to a familiar cramping in her stomach. She groaned, expertly rolled out of Xyloto's embrace without waking him, and rushed to the outskirts of the camp. Audrey was awakened by the sound of someone throwing up nearby, outside the thicket. She crawled out of the bushes and saw Mylo bent over, heaving.

"Are you all right?" Audrey asked when Mylo was done. She whirled around, wiping her mouth, and shrugged.

"It's been like this for me most mornings," she said. "It's nothing."

_Most mornings? _Audrey remembered her terrible morning sickness when she had been pregnant with Eva. She scanned the girl's body with alarm. Mylo didn't look like she was pregnant.

"I'm sorry that you haven't been feeling well," she said carefully. "I felt the same way when I was pregnant with Eva."

Mylo laughed, internally unsettled by the way this stranger had hit the nail on the head. How had she guessed it…? "That must have sucked."

"It did," Audrey said, smiling at the teenager's quaint use of slang. "But it was all worth it, of course." She continued to inspect Mylo's belly with her eyes, wondering if perhaps she had been right.

Mylo backed away. "Well, I guess I should go back to Xyloto now," she said.

"All right," Audrey called. "It was nice to talk to you." She waited until Mylo was out of sight before kneeling on the cold ground and touching the faces of her babies- Eva, and then Floyd.

Floyd was caught in the grips of a familiar nightmare. His strange, false memory-dreams of things that inspired interest more than anything else had eventually turned to bad dreams about his time with Ziggy in Suffragette City. Even in his sleep, guilt racked Floyd's mind. When Audrey pressed her hand to his cheek, the image of Ziggy in his dream crept up to touch Floyd in exactly the same way, his face painted with sadness. Floyd reached out, trying to take Ziggy in his arms, but with a shake of his head, the image dissipated.

"I'm _sorry-" _Floyd cried out, sitting bolt upright. Startled, Audrey jerked back from her husband as he came back to the waking world, panting.

"Floyd? Are you all right?" she asked hesitantly. Floyd sighed, remembering at once where he was- America. The thought sent visions of hatred spinning through his head, even stronger than usual. Floyd reached out and took Audrey's hand automatically. "Yes," he whispered.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Audrey asked. Floyd nodded. Audrey wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in, trying to warm him. "What was it about?"

"Ziggy," Floyd muttered. "Dammit." Audrey said nothing, only continued to rub Floyd's cold skin as the pair stared out into the woods. Then she abruptly pulled away, saying, "I've got to wake Eva up." Floyd nodded and stood up, staring with a fierce clarity into the dark woods that surrounded the camp. Again came the niggling, burning feeling of being watched.

"Is there anybody out there?" Floyd called quietly, and felt memories shift through his brain. Nothing responded, nothing but the barely-perceptible rustle of leaves, but Floyd chalked it up to the wind. He shivered in the early January chill of Pennsylvania. Of course all of the Pinkertons had had enough foresight to pack their heaviest winter clothing, but Floyd hadn't quite gotten the idea that they would be camping outdoors. Everything looked and felt sharp and clear.

_I should ask Xyloto if he's made his mind up yet, _Floyd thought suddenly, and glanced back at the thicket where Audrey was gently waking up Eva. She would understand his disappearance. Silently, Floyd crept away, back towards the heart of the camp, and made out towards Mylo and Xyloto's tent.

Mylo was standing outside, her arms folded over her belly. She smiled and waved as Floyd came closer. "Hello, Floyd," she said. "Xyloto's up if that's who you're looking for. He's inside."

"As a matter of fact, that is who I'm looking for," Floyd said. "Did you get a chance to read Ziggy's diary like I told you to?"

"Yes," Mylo said, kicking at the frozen ground. "God, it was sad…"

"I know," Floyd murmured. "Put yourself in my shoes and it will seem even sadder."

Mylo looked down at the ground. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Floyd. I had no idea how hard it would be on you…"

"It was extremely hard," Floyd said, his voice sounding strained. He swallowed quickly. "Mylo, do you understand why I have to retrieve his body now?"

"I guess so," Mylo said. "I don't think making an album will help anything. I think saving Ziggy's body from being cut up by quack doctors will, however. He deserves a proper burial. And after reading that diary last night, I agree that it has to be on Mars."

Floyd flashed a rare smile. "And is Xyloto convinced yet?"

"Not quite," Mylo said nervously. "I have a feeling that he's reluctant to join you, but I want to do it very badly, so I'm sure if he sees how devoted I am, he'll have to come along."

"Good," Floyd said. "Remember, I'm not trying to force you into this, but I do think it would make things easier to have you guys around." He scanned the clearing, observing all of the bodies who were waking up, stretching, walking around. "Do you think any of these people will want to come along?"

"No," Mylo said immediately, shaking her head. "I mean… They like us and all, but they're not _with _us, if you know what I mean. I've made acquaintances here, but none of these people really care what any of us do. If we leave, it would just make room for more newcomers to the camp. Only the people who came here in groups, like Xyloto and I, really have strong connective bonds. They won't want to leave this camp and help you because they barely know you."

"Oh, I see," said Floyd. "And you still like this place?"

Mylo giggled shortly. "Of course. All my life I've just wanted to be free. And this is the closest I've ever come to it."

Just then the tent flaps opened, and Mylo and Floyd turned to find Xyloto crawling out of his makeshift home. "Hey, guys," he said, standing up and scratching his head lazily. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Xyloto," Floyd replied. He watched as Xyloto reached into his pocket, drew out a lighter, and knelt down on the cold ground to kindle a bunch of dry twigs- evidently ones that had been gathered to light a fire previously. Soon a small campfire was blazing, and Xyloto was warming his hands on it. All around the tent, Floyd noticed that other people were behaving similarly. There were several small fires all about.

"Xyloto," Floyd said, turning back to his companion. "What did you think of Ziggy's diary?"

Xyloto shrugged. "I can't imagine how awful it must have been to live through all of that," he said. "I mean, that Ziggy had to go through so much, and that you had to watch him fall."

"It was hard," Floyd agreed swiftly. "What I want to know is, are you any more on board with this idea of mine than you were last night, before reading it?"

Xyloto glanced up at Floyd, his green eyes flashing. "I don't know, man. I mean, I think I understand your reasoning a little better now, but it still sounds really dangerous."

"Leaving your gang was dangerous," Floyd said. "Fighting against those drivers was dangerous. You've handled this stuff before, Xyloto."

"Not on a national level," Xyloto said. "What do you think they'd do to us if we got caught?" Mylo sat down next to him and placed her arms around his shoulders.

"Hey, the body theft might not even happen," she said encouragingly. "And if it does, we'll know how to escape. What can the government do, with no phones or radios or TV?"

"What?" Floyd jumped in. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing," Xyloto muttered. "Just rumors floating about having to do with the rate of decay in the country. The planes are obviously still working, though. It can't all be true."

"I also meant the wilderness," Mylo said gently. "We'll go to a place where they can't track us down, just like we did when we left the gang."

Xyloto grunted and said nothing, poking at the fire. Floyd looked at him until their eyes met.

"You told me to give you more time to make a decision," he reminded Xyloto. "I think the time has passed. Wouldn't you agree? It's a simple yes or no."

Xyloto quickly looked down again. He stared blankly for a few minutes before finally mumbling, "Yes. But… but as soon as we've retrieved Ziggy's body, can we go back here?"

"Maybe," Floyd said cautiously. "It depends on whether I still need your help. But I promise I'll get you back here some way or another."

Xyloto didn't respond to that. Silence filled the air, and Floyd was about to ask him when was the soonest they could leave when a figure came racing up to them, carrying a small child in her arms.

Audrey had woken Eva up, but her daughter was languid. "I'm cold," she complained, latching onto her mother for warmth. Audrey kissed her cheeks and rubbed on her hands. "Get up and move around, Eva," she'd suggested. "You'll warm up soon."

But instead of doing that, Eva began to cry. "I want to go home," she whimpered. "_I want to go home!" _Audrey had tried to soothe Eva, but she only grew more upset. It was almost as if she was a newborn again. Audrey suspected that the unfamiliar location was scaring her.

"What's wrong, Eva?" Audrey murmured. "Don't cry, please…"

"I want to go home!" she bawled. Audrey scooped Eva up in her arms and rocked her. "Ssh. It's going to be all right. Do you want Daddy?" Eva nodded quickly. Audrey smoothed her hair back. "Come on, let's go find your father." She lifted Eva up and walked off to the heart of the camp.

Now Floyd saw his wife approaching, carrying Eva in her arms. "What is it?" he called to Audrey.

"Eva's upset," Audrey said, clearing the space between them. "She's cold and homesick." Floyd took Eva out of Audrey's arms instantly, and Eva buried her face in his chest.

"It's all right, little one," Floyd said quietly. "You're cold? Here, let's sit next to the fire." He sat down next to Xyloto and Mylo and let Eva feel the heat on her back. Slowly, her sobs and snivels quieted, and she lay limp in Floyd's arms, relishing the warmth.

"Thank you, Floyd," Audrey said. Xyloto grunted, looking at them. "It must be hard work to have a kid."

"It is," Floyd said, stroking Eva's hair. "But I wouldn't give away any of it." He dipped his neck and kissed Eva's head, sadness welling in him as he realized that he'd better cherish these memories, so as to make them last in the next four years.

"I don't think I could ever have one," Xyloto said regretfully. "Of course, it's too late now anyway."

Beside him, Mylo grew still. She pulled away from him and stood up, tottering away from the campfire. "I'm thirsty," she muttered in the direction of the group. "I'm going to get water from the stream." Audrey watched with keen eyes as Mylo fled the scene as quickly as possible, making off for the outer boundaries of the camp. Once Mylo was out of sight, Audrey too said a word of parting to Xyloto, Floyd, and Eva and followed the direction that Mylo had gone.

The stream wasn't that far from the thicket where the Pinkertons had slept the night before. Audrey could see it by peering through the bare branches of the trees that surrounded the camp. Mylo was sitting by it, her back to Audrey and her hands in the water. Audrey quietly crossed through the trees and took a place beside the stream with Mylo. Mylo gave her a hurried glance, withdrawing her hands from the water and splashing it on her face. "What is it, Audrey?"

Audrey found it strange to hear this young woman call her by name. She reached out and touched Mylo's shoulder, causing Mylo to jerk back a little and stare at her. Audrey gazed into Mylo's eyes, dark brown pools of sadness. "I know what's wrong," she said simply. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Mylo sighed, her hands trembling. "I'm positive," she whispered, looking away from Audrey. "I haven't had my period for several months now…"

"But Xyloto doesn't know?" Audrey said, phrasing the statement as a question.

"No," Mylo murmured. "No, he doesn't. I'm afraid of telling him." She blinked a bit, watching the rippling reflection of herself and Audrey in the stream.

"Why?" Audrey asked gently. "If it has anything to do with not being married, or if you think he doesn't want children…"

"It's not like that," Mylo said. "I don't care that we're not married, and I'm sure Xyloto would be thrilled to have kids. He's told me that he always wanted to, anyway. But in the conditions we're living in…"

She trailed off, and Audrey responded with, "Ah, I understand." She glanced around the wide forest, watching sunlight dance off of fallen leaves. Mylo's dilemma was unique to her generation. If it had been possible for her to get pregnant a few years earlier, there wouldn't be much of a problem. But now that the Earth and its population had a four-year lifespan, Audrey saw that there would be no point in bringing a child into the world, only to have it die at the age of four. Eva at least would have a longer life.

"You must tell Xyloto anyway," Audrey said, rubbing Mylo's back. "He'll have to find out eventually."

"I know," Mylo said, letting Audrey touch her without so much as a shrug or a nod. "He will. But probably not on my terms."

"Mylo, you can't wait for him to discover it," Audrey said. "You've got to tell him, whether you want to or not."

Mylo said nothing, and Audrey dropped her hand. They both stared at the water together. Finally Mylo said, "What was it like when you were pregnant with Eva?"

"Not the easiest thing in the world," Audrey laughed. "Though in between the sickness and the putting on weight, I did have the best personal assistant a woman could ask for."

"What did Floyd say when you told him?" Mylo asked.

"He was a bit freaked out, naturally. He'd never known his father, and was worried that he wouldn't be a great role model for Eva because he didn't know what to do. But he's proven to be a wonderful father."

"I sure hope Xyloto doesn't freak out," Mylo said softly. "Um- one last question, Audrey…"

"Yes?"

"When you gave birth to Eva- well, how much does it hurt?" Mylo looked up at Audrey, biting her lip, and Audrey saw fear in her eyes.

"It's worse than menstrual cramps," Audrey said, trying to take on a light tone. "It's probably not as bad as getting stabbed or shot. But it's the most painful thing I've ever been through."

Mylo looked down. "Thanks…" Her voice wavered, and Audrey patted her shoulder soothingly. "Just remember, the pain is worth it. Your mother went through it to have you, and I went through it to have Eva. Keep that in mind when it's your time."

"Audrey, I'm scared," Mylo finally confessed, words tumbling out. "I haven't seen my mom in months. I don't know what to do…"

"My mother died when I was in my twenties," Audrey said. "She never lived to see Eva. But now you have me."

Mylo laughed harshly, a cruel sound, devoid of humor. "Yeah, there are plenty of women here at the camp who could help me. But this is all so crazy… I want to have the b- the baby, but is it really worth it? I'm bringing a kid into a world that's going to die in four years. There's no point in having children now."

"At least you get to enjoy motherhood for a little while," Audrey said. "Back in the old days, many women died during childbirth. Some women nowadays miscarry and never get to see their child's face. Four years is enough time to bond with your child. Eva is five years old right now."

"What if- what if Xyloto wants me to get an abortion?" Mylo said.

"It's your decision on whether you want to or not," Audrey told her. Another silence stretched out as Mylo contemplated everything they'd said. Then she spoke up again.

"Ever since we first came out here, I've felt like I'm being watched by someone whenever I go out in the woods. I don't know who's out here, but I think they're watching over me. I feel that there's a guardian angel out in these woods, looking after me, making sure that nothing bad happens to me. If anything goes wrong with Xyloto or the camp or anything, I know there'll always be someone to take care of me."

Audrey, having nothing to say to this, let go of Mylo's shoulder and took her hand instead. They sat together for a few minutes more before Mylo stood up and said she was going back to the camp. Audrey followed in her footsteps.

While Audrey and Mylo had been having a meaningful conversation about pregnancy, Xyloto and Floyd had been having a meaningful conversation about their plan to reach Washington, D.C. Xyloto explained that it could take a few days to get there by car, and that he'd have to store up a lot of gasoline, but he was able to drive the Pinkertons out. He'd said that the soonest they could leave would be the next day. Floyd nodded, pleased with the prospect. As he talked with Xyloto, he couldn't shake the feeling that the teen was behaving more and more like someone else he had known once- who could it be? Eventually towards the end of their conversation, Floyd realized the connection. Xyloto was reminding him of Michael, the level-headed leader of the gang from the suburbs. Floyd almost brought up the comparison, but stopped himself, remembering that Xyloto hadn't left the gang on exactly friendly terms with the young man.

Eva stayed in Floyd's arms all throughout this talk, and Floyd wondered how much of the conversation she was listening to. Did she understand that their next journey would be dangerous? What was she thinking of?

Sometime after the conversation had wrapped up, Mylo and Audrey appeared again, heading back to their respective loved ones. "Ah, good, you're here," Xyloto greeted them. "Floyd and I have been talking about our trip to Washington, D.C. It'll probably take at least three or four days to get there if we start out next morning."

"That's good news," Audrey said. "We should make a list of things to bring along, such as food."

"Right," Xyloto said. "We'd need a lot of food, having five mouths to feed."

"Six actually," Mylo muttered.

Xyloto looked up at her. "Six? Who else is coming along?"

Mylo blinked, hesitating in her response. She could feel everyone's eyes slowly turn on to her. "Well… if you include the baby…"

"What baby?" Xyloto stated immediately. "What are you talking about?"

Mylo looked down at Xyloto, gazing into his warm green eyes. "Xyloto, I'm pregnant," she said.

For a moment no one said anything, and then Xyloto leapt up and put his arm around Mylo. "Oh my God…"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," Mylo whispered. "I found it out two months ago."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Xyloto asked. He cupped Mylo's face in his hands.

Mylo swallowed. "I was afraid of what you would think. I can't have a baby. Not when he or she is going to die in four years…"

"Oh my God," was all Xyloto could say again. He removed his hands from Mylo's face, paused, and then tentatively brought them down to her stomach. Mylo looked down as well.

"It's too early to feel anything yet," she said. "The baby's not fully formed. You won't feel him kicking or anything."

Xyloto stared upwards into his lover's eyes. "Mylo, this is… this is amazing. I never would have thought…"

"Well, you don't usually get pregnant from the first time," Mylo said, sighing. "Xyloto, I… I want to have this baby."

Xyloto blinked at her. "Why would you not?"

"I said before that it would be impossible," Mylo said, her voice catching in her throat. "How can we raise a child knowing that he or she is going to die in the future?"

"We're going to die along with the child," Xyloto said softly. "Unless we figure out a way to escape or save Earth in time. It's all right. I want the baby too."

"Oh…" Mylo said, and crushed herself to Xyloto. They wrapped their arms around each other, and Xyloto gave Mylo a gentle kiss.

"I love you," Xyloto whispered. "Everything will be fine."

"I hope so," Mylo said back, shivering.

Soon the two realized they had an audience, and broke away from each other. "Okay, that makes six mouths to feed," Xyloto said in a shaking voice, his face breaking into a radiant smile. Audrey and Floyd smiled back, and Mylo gave Audrey a grateful nod. "So what's next?"

By nightfall, Floyd returned to the thicket with Audrey and Eva, plagued by the still-constant feeling that someone was watching him. _Why am I so paranoid? _He shook his head and crawled into the thicket. "Audrey, are you awake?"

"Yes," came the reply. "Eva's not."

Floyd lay down beside her. "I was just thinking about something."

"What?"

"Why don't we ask Mylo and Xyloto if we can sleep in their tent tonight? It's bound to be warmer in there than out here."

Audrey sighed. "You just want to have sex with me, don't you?" Floyd started to protest, saying that there was nothing wrong with that, when Audrey propped herself up and kissed him on the lips. "I wasn't saying it's a bad thing, Floyd," she said in a warm tone. "I want it as much as you do. But where will Mylo and Xyloto sleep? Certainly not in this thicket. And what about Eva?"

"They can look after her while we're in the tent," Floyd said. "We can go back to the thicket when we're done."

"Mm." Audrey kissed Floyd again. "Sounds like a plan. Let's get Eva."

They gently roused their daughter, told her that Mylo and Xyloto would be looking after her for a bit, and walked out of the thicket, Audrey carrying Eva and Floyd bringing up the rear. He tried to ignore the pinpricks of ever-watching eyes on his back as they faded into the distance. It was time to concentrate on more pleasant things, such as the love he was about to make with Audrey.

Inside Mylo and Xyloto's tent, all was still. Xyloto had his arms wrapped around Mylo, both of them sharing a sleeping bag. He kissed her. "I guess this means we can't do it anymore?" he said, referring to her pregnancy.

Mylo giggled. "Sure we can. Just try to be gentle with me." They sunk deeper into the kiss, to be startled apart when the tent flaps opened and Audrey, Eva, and Floyd were found to be staring at them.

"Mylo? Xyloto?" Audrey said. "I do hope we're not disturbing you…"

"Not at all," Xyloto said, crawling out of the sleeping bag. His cheeks were flushed red, as if they'd been caught in the act. "What's going on, guys?"

"I wanted to know if you would let us have your tent for a moment," Floyd said quietly. "It won't take very long- there's just something we need to do."

Xyloto exchanged a knowing glance with Mylo. He could figure very well what it was that the Pinkertons wanted to do- the exact same thing he had been about to do with Mylo before getting interrupted. "I know what you mean," he said, trying to keep the smile off his face. "We'll leave it up to you." They crawled out of the tent together. Audrey handed the sleepy Eva to Mylo. "Would you mind taking care of Eva for a moment?"

"Nope," Mylo said, propping Eva up on her knee. She supposed this was practice for nine months later, when she would give birth to her own child. "I'll keep a close eye on her."

Audrey smiled. "Thank you." She headed into the tent with Floyd.

Once inside, Floyd gave the tent a good look over. "There's not much room…" he said. "At least we'll be out of the wind."

"Come here," Audrey said, already taking off her shirt. Floyd obeyed, and they collided with a kiss, shedding clothing as they went. When Floyd pulled away from the kiss, he was already breathing hard. He pressed soft fingers to Audrey's cheek, touching her as if to make sure she was real.

"Listen, Audrey…"

"Yes?" she said, equally as breathless.

"I have a feeling that this is going to be our last night together. Don't ask me why I think that, I just have a feeling. So let's try to make this the best night of our lives." He smiled, and after a brief pause Audrey smiled back. They locked lips once more, and then they began.

Outside the tent, all was quiet. Mylo and Xyloto sat together in the frosty air, watching their steamy breath and looking up at the stars. "Remember the first time we really talked to each other?" Mylo whispered.

"Yeah," Xyloto said. "We were on the roof of my gang's house. We were looking at the stars."

"That was the night I realized that we were more than friends," Mylo said. "You're the first person I'd met who I felt like I could really trust. I'm so glad I decided to run away from home, Xyloto. It's made all the difference by crossing paths with you."  
"I'm so glad I met you," Xyloto murmured. "You saved my life. I can never forget that."

They snuggled up together, and Xyloto threw his arm around Mylo, nuzzling her hair. "And now we have a baby on the way…" He spoke dazedly, still unable to believe that he could have helped create new life.

Mylo's tone sounded reproachful. "Xyloto, when we're done with helping out Floyd in D.C…. well, I'd like to go back to the suburbs, just for a visit. I know I hated my parents, but now that I've been away from them for so long I understand that they're probably worried. I mean, I just up and went without letting any of them know where I was going… And now that I'm pregnant, I think my mother deserves to know she's going to have a grandchild."

"Ah," Xyloto said, sliding his hand down Mylo's shirt. "That's a good thing to do. I'll gladly take you to the suburbs if I can get more gas in D.C."

Mylo leaned her head against Xyloto's shoulder, staring at the stars. The more she thought about her family, the more something ached inside of her. But it wasn't an acute pain. Mylo was thankful for having left her parents behind in Suffragette City, for without making that big jump, she never would have met Xyloto. It would be good to see them, if only to tell them that she had no intention of visiting them again.

Xyloto wasn't quite as lucky as Mylo. Neither of his parents were still alive. He'd run away from home shortly after the funeral, not being able to handle it. Mylo had been told strictly to guard the secret of his origins with her life and not to mention it to anybody. It would pain Xyloto if he had to think about it more often than he should, and besides, he didn't want anyone pitying him.

As Mylo started to drift off in a dream, a thought crossed her mind that made her sit bolt upright. Xyloto jerked beside her. "What is it, Mylo? Are you hurt?"

"Where's Eva?" she whispered. The two lovers looked out across the clearing, and saw a small figure standing by the entrance of their tent, peeking inside.

Eva had been wakened by the sudden change of scenery. She found herself out in the clearing, with no shelter but Mylo's arms around her. As Mylo settled in with Xyloto, Eva had slipped away, going off to find her parents. She didn't know these people very well. She just wanted Mummy and Daddy.

Eva made it up to the tent where Audrey and Floyd had gone into and turned the flaps aside. The sight that met her eyes was confusing and frightening. Both of her parents were naked, with Floyd on top of Audrey, their backs to Eva. They seemed, in Eva's eyes, to be locked in some kind of vicious struggle, with Floyd panting and Audrey making distressed moaning sounds. Scared, Eva raced back out into the clearing and pelted across the ground to meet Mylo and Xyloto, who had both stood up once they realized Eva was missing.

"Eva!" Mylo exclaimed as the girl came running up, obviously disturbed by something. "What's wrong?"

"Daddy is killing Mummy!" Eva blurted. "Over there!" She pointed to the tent, and Mylo heard the inmistakable sounds of lovemaking coming from it. She sat down, glancing at Xyloto, wondering how she could explain this to Eva.

"He's not killing her," Mylo said finally, taking a hold of Eva's hand. "They're having sex, that's all."

"What's sex?" Eva asked, her eyes wide.

Beside her, Mylo felt Xyloto open his mouth, about to tell Mylo to stop talking. But she barreled on ahead. "Sex is what happens when a man and a woman want to have a child. Your mother and father had sex to give birth to you. I had it with Xyloto to get pregnant."

Eva shook her head, not frightened anymore but still confused. "But they have me already."

"Sex is also for pleasure," Mylo explained. "It feels good. Don't worry, Eva. You're not going to get a sibling."

Eva said nothing more, and Xyloto prodded Mylo's back. "Do you think it was a good idea to tell her that?" he mouthed. Mylo shrugged.

"She had to know eventually. She's going to die at the age of ten, Xyloto. She better learn all that she can in a short amount of time."

Back in the tent, Audrey and Floyd had reached the highest point of pleasure in their lovemaking. Floyd, the normally reserved one, found himself screaming as he died three times in three different pairs of arms. Once with a faceless groupie, her body ready and eager as Floyd released himself into her. Once with Ziggy, that old familiar heart-melting smile appearing on his face as he swallowed Floyd's juice. And now with Audrey, her own voice raised, both of their eyes closed. Soon it was over, and Floyd relaxed, his breathing slowing down. They disconnected and lay as two separate beings, wiping the sweat off their faces.

"I've never heard you scream like that before," Audrey said, a strange, humorous grin touching her face.

"I've heard Ziggy scream like that," Floyd said. "My, but he was always so loud…" He rolled over and laid his hands over Audrey's breasts. "I love you, Audrey."

"I love you too, Floyd." They waited for their heartbeats to calm down before dressing and exiting the tent. Mylo and Xyloto came up, Eva walking in between them.

"Thank you for letting us use your tent," Audrey said softly, picking up Eva. "I hope the both of you have a good night."

"You're welcome," Xyloto said, and Mylo smiled. "Same to you." They watched as the Pinkertons departed for the thicket, Eva asking her parents, "Why were you having sex?"


	31. We're Coming Home Again

Chapter Thirty: _We're Coming Home Again_

The next day, Floyd woke up bright and early to get a drink of water from the stream. As he cupped his hands to drink out of, he had the feeling he was assaulted by eyes, staring in every direction, just like that terrible concert he had performed when he wasn't able to move or speak or do anything but stand and stare under the spotlight…

Floyd jerked back, and behind him he heard the sound of someone throwing up. He turned and found Mylo, bent over and gagging. When she was through, she straightened up, wiping her mouth and smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry about that," she said. "I'm not feeling very well."

"It's all right," Floyd said, remembering Audrey's awful morning sickness during her pregnancy. "I hope you feel better later."

"Thanks." Mylo turned to go, but Floyd called after her, "Mylo? How often do you come out in these woods?"

"A lot," she answered. "Why?"

Floyd took a few steps toward her, his eyes boring holes through her. "Have you ever felt like you're being watched out in these woods? Like someone is following you with your eyes?"

Mylo gasped. "Yes! My guardian angel. I've always felt like someone is out here, watching me, looking out for me… How did you know?"

They both stared into the silent woods, and Floyd felt a strange and distinct hatred stirring inside of him, directed at the unseen pair of eyes.

"Well, I don't think this person is watching out for _me," _he muttered. "I hate it. Can't wait to get out of here."

And get out of there they did. As soon as everyone was wide awake, Xyloto gave the Pinkertons their packs of supplies- duffel bags full of food and water- and then he and Mylo packed up their own camp, stowing the tent away in a bag. A few people said terse goodbyes to the five, recognizing that they wouldn't be coming back for a long while. Xyloto led the group out of the camp and over to the car, which he had already loaded full of fuel. Two other gas cans were stored in the backseat. The Pinkertons climbed into the back, Eva sitting in between Audrey and Floyd (who both worried about not having a car seat for their daughter), and Mylo sat in the passenger seat beside Xyloto as he revved up the engine and pulled out onto the road, ready for the drive to Washington, D.C.

There wasn't much talking during that drive. Audrey soothed the restless Eva by playing word games and hand games with her, and Mylo stared out the window, talking to Xyloto in a low voice every now and then. Xyloto kept his eyes on the road, sometimes tapping his fingers on the steering wheel along to the music on the radio. And as for Floyd, he couldn't get rid of the alarming sense of foreboding that was filling him as Xyloto drove on. It seemed as if he couldn't get away from the malevolent presence of those eyes out in the forest, though he could no longer feel their stare on him.

The group bedded down at the side of the road for the night, sleeping in the car after a stretch and walk around. Somewhere in the dead of night, Floyd had a dream that greatly disturbed him. He was standing in a green field, much like the one he had seen in Ziggy's memory of a free festival, looking down on a woman's body that lay before him. Only it wasn't just any woman's body- it was Audrey, lying on her back with her eyes closed, her pink dress that Floyd had always loved on her spread billowing-ly out around her body, her arms folded over her breasts in the shape of an X. She wasn't moving, her chest not even rising and falling with breath. Her body was untouched, but Floyd knew, though he didn't know how he knew, that if he could peel her dress off he would find several puncture wounds on her body, twenty-three of them to be exact. Her dress was stained with white in the area directly over her heart.

Floyd knelt down on the soft grass and began picking daisies, which were springing up all over the place. He knitted them with his fingers into a chain and tied the ends together, forming a circlet which he gently set down on the top of Audrey's head, crowning her. The soft breeze stirred her red hair, fluttering the strands about her face. Floyd blinked, and when his eyes opened he was staring at a different woman in Audrey's place, a woman with bone-white skin like Ziggy's, light blonde hair, pointed ears, and lacking eyebrows. Her clothing was different, too- a light gray cashmere short-sleeved sweater and a ruffled white skirt. Inside himself, Floyd felt deep love and anguish surging, an interesting confliction of mixed emotions. He heard himself cry out, "Serefina, my love, my one and only-"

Floyd awoke in the dark, sitting up in a car. It took him a while before he remembered where he was and why. Automatically, Floyd reached out into the dark to find and touch Audrey's soft hair. She barely stirred beneath his hand. Floyd blinked as his eyes grew adjusted to the lack of light, wondering why he had had such a dream. Of course it was obvious where Audrey's death had come from, but who was the woman that she had turned into? Floyd thought back to Ziggy's memory of a free festival, and realized with a shock that the woman who had held his hand in the memory was the same woman that Audrey had become, the one that Floyd had called in his dream "Serefina, my love, my one and only." Floyd would have liked to pursue the thought further to discover just who exactly this woman was and what she meant to Floyd, but the thought of _Audrey's death _caught up to him, and he shuddered. Audrey wasn't going to die. At least not on Floyd's terms.

Two days later, the group of five (six including Mylo's unborn child) had finally reached the city of Washington, D.C., AKA the capital of the United States of America. They drove onto the streets, looking past caved-in buildings and cracked ground. A few cars blew past them, but for the most part D.C. seemed deserted. Audrey noticed the eyes of hidden people peering out from behind the shattered buildings, and Floyd wondered if they had formed gangs just like the one in the suburbs of Suffragette City.

"Where am I going?" Xyloto asked Floyd as he drove at a leisurely pace.

"Try to find a hotel," Floyd suggested. "Or failing that, just look for a place that we can spend the night in. I want to settle down before going off to find the capital building."

"Okay," Xyloto said, taking the car in a big loop before finally ending up at the wreckage of what once appeared to be a hotel. He pulled up to the curb and the group of five stared at it. There didn't seem to be anyone in there.

"Great, a hotel just for ourselves," Mylo said. "And we don't have to pay for a room! Cut the engine, Xyloto." He did, but Floyd warned before anyone could get out, "Wait. There might be someone in there who's not too friendly." He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, and immediately was assaulted by the feeling that he'd thought he left behind in Pennsylvania- unknown eyes staring at him, tearing into him, judging him, wishing him harm…

Floyd staggered back, his hands scrabbling at the side of the car. He managed to gasp before the black wave of fear pulled him in, "You! Come out now, whoever you are! I know someone's out there!"

A rustling noise made him turn around. Turning, Floyd caught a glimpse just in time of a human figure ducking behind the shell of the hotel. Floyd instantly ran after him, or her, or whoever it was. Footsteps pounded on the asphalt, but Floyd was quicker. He reached the inside of the hotel and shot out a hand, grabbing the unknown person by the arm. "What's your problem, you-" His breath died as the person struggled and spat, and he realized that he had seen this young man's face before.

"What's _your _fucking problem?" Rael retaliated, his unusual blue eyes sparking and flaming. "We didn't do anything to you!"

Floyd let go of Rael's arm, in shock. Dazed, he murmured, "Rael…?"

"Yeah, it's us," Rael spat, hauling his arm up and making a big show of checking it over for bruises. "Look what you've done! You've twisted our arm!"

"It will heal," Floyd muttered. "Rael, I haven't seen you in so long. What are you doing here?"

"We could ask you the same thing," Rael muttered. "What are _you _doing here?"

"I'd tell you, but I doubt you'd believe me," Floyd sighed.

From behind Floyd, a voice suddenly called. "Floyd, what's going on?" Turning around, Floyd saw Xyloto enter the hotel, and behind him, felt Rael stiffen with fury. _"Xyloto…"_

"Rael?!" Xyloto blurted, stopping dead in his tracks. "What are you doing here?!" The two enemies sized each other up, and Rael's lips curled back with a snarl. _"Xyloto-!" _He stalked towards him, and Xyloto instantly took a step back, drawing his hand into the backpack on his back. "Don't come closer. I'm armed!"

"I don't care!" Rael snapped, taking another step forward. Suddenly he was close enough to Xyloto to reach out a hand and poke one lean, brown finger into Xyloto's chest, accusing him as he did so, "You fucking _deserted _me! You betrayed me and left me alone with those _drivers-!"_

"Leave me alone!" Xyloto yelled, whipping out a can of spray paint and aiming it at Rael's eyes. Floyd hastily intervened, separating the two young men and holding them apart, while Rael struggled viciously and Xyloto held his defensive posture.

"Look, you two!" Floyd barked. "Calm down! Fighting isn't going to solve anything!"

"But he threatened me first!" Xyloto whined.

"And you deserved it!" Rael retorted.

"Stop!" Floyd gave them each a shake. "I'm not going to release you unless you promise not to go at each other's throats."

"Sure," Xyloto muttered. "You can let me go, but I doubt Rael will follow orders."

"Shut up," Rael hissed. His muscles were slowly slackening, his fists lowering. "We're not going to hurt your precious little body. Let us go, Floyd."

Floyd waited until both Rael and Xyloto had calmed a bit before releasing his grip on their arms. They scuttled to opposite sides of the room, staring at each other coldly, but without much hostility.

"What are you doing here?" Xyloto addressed Rael. "How long have you been here?"

"We just got here," Rael muttered, subdued. "We followed _you."_

"Xyloto," Floyd spoke up, still not entirely convinced that the two could speak on friendly terms. "Go back to the car and tell Mylo and Audrey what's happened. Stay out there until I'm finished talking with Rael."

"Why?" Xyloto asked, his eyes wide. "I can control myself, you know. Rael's the one who's not being civil."

Floyd sighed. "I want to speak with Rael alone. I promise I'm not underestimating you, Xyloto. Besides, the longer you're gone, the more likely it will be for Audrey and Mylo to come looking for us."

"All right," Xyloto said, surrendering. He shouldered his pack and walked back out of the hotel. Rael turned his cool, ice blue eyes onto Floyd, staring quizzically at him.

"Xyloto's not the only one who can control himself. We… we've changed, honestly we have. Seeing him just got our temper up…" Rael briefly rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, as if dispelling a headache. "Why do you want to talk to us?"

"To get answers from you," Floyd said. "How long have you been following me?"

"We didn't even know you were here until about… three days ago, when we saw you in the woods," Rael said. "We've been living out in the wild near Mylo and Xyloto. After seeing you, and hearing you and Mylo talk about leaving, we decided to follow you."

"Did Mylo and Xyloto know you were living in the woods?" Floyd asked.

Rael shook his head. "Nope. We're their own personal stalker." He let out a peal of caustic laughter. "God, we've been through so much since we last saw you. So damn much…"

"Tell me everything," Floyd said, standing back to lean against a wall.

Rael looked up, seeming to be racking his brains. _Where to start…?_

_Start from the very beginning. Start with the raid._

"We guess the last time you saw us, it was when we were a prisoner of Xyloto's gang. Well… you didn't actually _see _us, but the last time we were there, it was when those people with the cars attacked the gang. They kidnapped us, and fucking _Xyloto _followed us, but he didn't even bother trying to save us. Imagine that! He was no better than our brother- well, he was no better than us. John. No better than John.

"They drove us to the woods, and we tried to get away, but the kidnapper knocked us out. When we came to, we were tied up and being watched over inside of a tent. It was night, and there was a fire going. We tried questioning the guy who was watching over us, and he said that they were planning on holding us for ransom. We explained to him that we weren't, and never will have been, part of Xyloto's gang, and that they probably didn't have any money anyway. He said his name was Will and that he, along with the rest of the people who attacked us, lived in the suburbs outside of Suffragette City, that place you and Ziggy were trying to get to. We asked Will if he would let us go, and he said only if I promised not to go running back to Xyloto's gang. We promised we wouldn't, and asked if he would take us to Suffragette City. He agreed, because he wanted to go home- mentioned a girlfriend or something.

"That night, when all of the drivers fell asleep, Will untied us and snuck out of camp. He drove out to the suburbs and spent the night at his girlfriend's house, with us sleeping in the car. The next day, Will came back out looking worried. He said that his girlfriend was at the hospital in Suffragette City , in labor with his child, and that he would rather take us to the city at a later time when she had settled down into her new life. So we agreed to postpone our journey for a while, and ran off into the wilderness.

"We spent a long time out there in the woods. At least a month if not more. We lived off the land, coming back to the suburbs whenever we needed supplies. Sometimes we caught sight of the drivers going out to Xyloto's gang, and we considered joining them, but we didn't know how to drive, not then. After a long time of living out in the wild, Will came looking for us. He'd known we were going to be spending some time alone in the woods, and it wasn't hard to find our camp. He told us that his girlfriend had rejected him, even though she was still taking care of his kid. He wasn't doing a good job of taking care of _her_. Will offered to take us to Suffragette City, and we agreed. He took us back to the suburbs, and we spent another long while learning how to drive and hot-wire cars. Will told us that if we had a car, we could get anywhere in the world. That was all he taught us about surviving, and it's been a very valuable point to make.

"What happened next was, we took off in a stolen car for Suffragette City. There we spent another few months living on the streets. We got a new razor-" Here Rael paused his story to reach into his pocket and draw out a stainless steel razor that reflected his satisfied grin. "We had a great time in Suffragette City, driving around raising hell. But something was missing.

"We've lived in New York City for pretty much all our lives, you know. We were always used to being around so many sights and sounds. But Suffragette City was different. We- we've never really liked being around huge crowds of strangers, and it just got worse in Suffragette City. Living out in the wild had kind of taught us the value of quiet and living on our own, and it just wasn't the same then. We'd thought we would feel comfortable in an environment like our old home, but we guess now that we'd moved on from that time. Suffragette City wasn't anywhere close to a home, and so we made plans to leave it behind.

"We were caught by the police before we could get out, though. We'd stolen and hot-wired a car, and they chased after us. We ended up crashing and having to go to the hospital, which was very embarrassing. We have to say, we hate those hospitals. They remind us of Doktor Dyper's office. These doctors were talking about us, saying we were delusional and psychotic and dangerous and needed to be put in a mental hospital, or maybe a reformatory. We thought that would be the end of us. But then our luck turned up, because when we were in the hospital, another guy was found and put in the bed next to us. His name was Johnny Armstrong, and he turned out to be our salvation.

"Johnny seemed to be more delusional than we were. We think he was addicted to drugs or something. He kept rambling on about this guy named St. Jimmy, saying he was dead and that he'd killed him, or killed himself, or something. He was also talking about this girl, and kept asking us what her name was. As if he'd forgotten his own girlfriend's name! He was the one who should have been in a mental hospital, not us.

"From the looks of it, they were planning on sending him to rehab for his heroin addiction. This made him very scared. He had he just wanted to go home again, and constantly asked if we could take him there. We asked him where he lived, and he said, to our surprise, that he lived in the suburbs outside of Suffragette City! Imagine that- we'd just been there. So we agreed to take him home if we could come up with a good plan for escape together.

"Fortunately, on the day before they were going to send us away, there was some kind of confusion in the hospital. All we heard was that someone famous was in the hospital, and there were policemen and reporters everywhere. We never found out what exactly was going on, but it was the perfect time for Johnny and us to escape. So we did. We stole a car and drove out of Suffragette City, with Johnny in the passenger seat. He didn't say much on that trip- mostly he just moaned about pain, probably from the heroin withdrawal, and something about 'We're coming home again.'

"He was barely conscious by the time we reached the suburbs. But he managed to tell us where he lived, and we dropped him off and drove away. We drove all night until we ran out of gas, and then we went off walking. After many, many days of roaming the land, living in the wild, we came across Mylo and Xyloto. They weren't in Pennsylvania quite yet, so we followed them. We ended up settling down with them in the woods outside of their camp. We're sure you could finish the rest of the story."

Rael leaned back, stretching out his back and arms. Floyd let the story sink into him before Rael looked at him and spoke sharply. "What are you waiting for? Don't you have anything to say? It's your turn to talk now."

"Why were you following Mylo and Xyloto?" Floyd asked.

Rael sighed. "More questions? It's of no importance to you. Now, why were _you _visiting Mylo and Xyloto? What happened since we last saw you?"

Floyd decided to be as concise as possible. "I went to Suffragette City with Z- with Ziggy. He was murdered, and I went home. I'm back now because Mylo and Xyloto invited me, and because I have a plan to set into motion here in D.C."

Rael's eyes popped wide. "Ziggy was murdered?!"

"Yes," Floyd sighed. "He was more than likely the famous person at the hospital that allowed you to escape with Johnny."

"Damn…" Rael's eyes fluttered around Floyd's face, as if searching for words on his visage. "We don't know what to say. Man, we're sorry about that."

"It's all right," Floyd assured him grimly. "I'm here in America in order to retrieve Ziggy's body and give him a proper burial." _On Mars, _his mind silently added.

"Wow…" Rael dug his hands into his pockets. "Ziggy was a great guy. Why would anyone kill him? Who were those bastards?"

"His backing band," Floyd said. "He was a singer, remember? They killed him onstage."

Rael's brow furrowed, and he said nothing more. Finally he glanced over at Floyd. "What are you going to do now, then?"

"I don't know," Floyd said. "Mylo, Xyloto, my wife, and my daughter were going to unpack and stay in this abandoned hotel, and I was going to drive out to the capital building to see where they're holding Ziggy's body."

Thankfully Rael didn't ask why Ziggy's body was being held in the capital. He asked instead, "What we meant to say was, what are you going to do with us?"

Floyd sized Rael up and down for a moment before responding. Rael had grown leaner since the last time they'd seen each other. Instead of a grimy white T-shirt and bare feet, he now wore a World War Two era bomber jacket and shiny white sneakers. The main difference was in his eyes, however. Instead of holding that ferocious quality in them that Floyd had just seen when Rael attacked Xyloto, that gleam that had spoken to Floyd when he first met Rael, telling him that this young man had been in fights before and wasn't afraid to hurt others, Rael's blue orbs now seemed relatively calm. There was no flicker of restless energy that lay behind them. Instead, they seemed patient and unwavering, uncertain about the future but not stressing out over it.

_Has Rael matured? _Floyd thought, gazing upon the young man whom he could not call his friend. With the change in his eyes, Rael's entire personality seemed to have shifted. He no longer radiated angry vibes that told others to keep away. In fact, he appeared to be quite the opposite- his entire posture gave off a feeling of needing company, needing to be protected. Something about the way he now held himself reminded Floyd of himself.

"You're of my kind," Floyd murmured unthinkingly, staring deeply at Rael with a new perception. He now understood the reason for the change. After living on his own in the wild, Rael must have realized his introverted tendencies. He was now living in a world where no one could tell him how to behave, a world where he could shuck his false extroversion and let the real Rael shine through. Floyd, being an introvert himself, knew exactly how Rael must be feeling.

Rael snorted. "One of your kind? What the hell do you mean?"

"Never mind," Floyd mumbled, unsure if Rael would understand the path of his thoughts. "What I meant to say is, you can stay with us if you feel like it, but I won't force you to if you'd rather be on your own."

"Okay," Rael said. He seemed to waver on his feet, hesitating before saying, "Mylo is here with Xyloto, right?"

"Of course," Floyd said. "My family is also here."

Rael stared. He hadn't known Floyd had a family. "Floyd… has Mylo… mentioned us at all?"

"No," Floyd said. "Not by name anyway. She could feel, as I could feel, that there was someone watching over her out in the woods. She considered you her guardian angel."

_Guardian angel… _Rael liked the term, but he wasn't sure if Mylo should apply it so readily. Thinking of the brief glimpses he'd caught of her, sitting by the stream in the forest, he suddenly wasn't sure if he should agree to join Floyd.

"We don't know if we want to stick around," Rael said slowly. "We're sorry…"

"It's all right," Floyd said. "No one is forcing you. But why did you follow us?"

"No reason," Rael said, shrugging, though he did indeed have a reason. "We… we guess it would be better if we went home now?"

"Rael…" Floyd inhaled as a thought came to him. "Do you even have a home?"

Rael looked down at his feet. "No," he muttered. "But you don't have to worry about us, we swear. We'd rather be alone."

Floyd couldn't argue with that, and yet he felt that something was missing. "Rael, I can't let you go back to Pennsylvania on your own. You'll get lost."

"So?" Rael snorted. "We stayed out in the wild for a long time. We don't need to go back to Pennsylvania."

"I think it would be better for you if you stayed with us for a bit," Floyd said. "You can go whenever you like, but… I just feel uncomfortable with you staying out there all alone."

Rael started to turn away. "Sorry, Floyd. We… we just can't do that."

"Why?" Floyd asked, stepping forward. "What are you afraid of? I promise my family doesn't bite. Are you afraid of Xyloto?"

"Nope," Rael said, rolling his eyes. "Xyloto's the one who's scared of us. Did you see his eyes when we leapt on him? He really thought we were going to kill him!"

"Well, if it's not Xyloto, what is it?" Floyd asked. "Why are you apprehensive to stay with us?" He had a feeling he knew what Rael would say- that he felt uncomfortable being around people, having recently unleashed his inner introvert.

However, Rael's response ended up surprising him.

"Mylo," Rael muttered. He clenched his hands together, and then dragged them through his thick black hair. "We… w- we can't see Mylo. Please. Please don't make us stay with you and Mylo."

"Why?" Floyd asked. "What's wrong with Mylo?"

Rael shrugged, trying to look aloof. "We just don't want to talk to her." He gave Floyd a small, strange smile. Floyd came forward and laid a hand on Rael's shoulder. He shook it off defiantly.

"Rael," Floyd said softly. "We're not here to hurt you. Please stay with us."

"We won't make any promises," Rael mutteed, withdrawing from Floyd. He stared at the older man with some of the old gleam in his eye.

"Will you stay here until I can get the rest of the group?" Floyd asked. Rael shrugged. With one last look over his shoulder, Floyd turned and went to the hotel door, walking back out onto the street, where Audrey, Eva, Mylo, and Xyloto had gotten out of the car and were waiting anxiously for Floyd's news.

"Rael's really in there?" was the first thing Mylo said when Floyd approached. Floyd nodded. "He doesn't want to see you, though. But it's safe to come inside. Come on, follow me." Floyd took ahold of Audrey's hand and led the quartet through the door. As soon as Mylo, holding Xyloto's hand, walked through the threshold, she gasped. "Rael! Is it really you?"

The face of Mylo's guardian angel was nothing like she had expected. Mylo had known that Rael was half Puerto Rican and had dark skin, and she had seen his blue eyes for herself, but she hadn't expected the wide gash of a scar on his right cheek. Nor had she expected his black hair to be quite so long, covering his ears like a shaggy black mop. His hands flexed nervously, hands that she had touched and kissed, and his body was thin, almost unhealthily so, although not as skinny as Ziggy had been. Rael was much taller than Mylo had imagined. He easily towered over Xyloto. His clothing consisted of a sheepskin bomber jacket, faded blue jeans with several patched-up holes, and pristine sneakers. Mylo took a step forward, unable to believe that this young man was the same one that she had spoken to so often during her time with the gang.

"Rael?" Mylo murmured softly. Rael stiffened at the sound of his name, like an animal that had just been caught by its predator. His eyes flashed as Mylo came closer, peering wonderingly into his countenance. "Rael, it's me… It's Mylo."

Quick as a flash, Rael spun around and ran off in the other direction, deep into the halls of the run-down hotel. Shocked, Mylo drew back, listening to his footsteps pound on the hard floor until there was nothing left.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked herself quietly, feeling hurt from Rael's apparent rejection. Xyloto came up and wrapped his arm around Mylo's shoulders as her hands started to shake.

"Rael specifically named you as the reason why he didn't want to stay with us," Floyd said. "I'm sorry, Mylo."

Mylo looked down at her feet, and then back at the hall that Rael had disappeared into, her eyes stinging. _I'm sorry, Rael._

After Rael had disappeared, Floyd took the time to tell Xyloto, Mylo, Audrey, and Eva what he had learned from their conversation. Mylo fought tears the whole time, remembering her conversations with Rael during their time with the gang. The last time she'd actually spoken to him, he had allowed her to go ahead and be with Xyloto, even though he had a crush on her. The only reason Mylo could think of for why Rael had run off so suddenly now was that contrary to what he had said, he wasn't over her, and he was scared of being so close to her. It was easier to lie to someone when one was in the dark, separated by a locked door.

Once Floyd finished explaining his story, Xyloto tried to console Mylo, but she walked away from him. "I'm sorry… I need time to think about this on my own." Xyloto started to say something, but let it drop as Mylo traveled to the farthest corner of the room, back turned.

"Now let's get our things sorted out," Floyd said, indicating the backpacks and various supplies inside of them that the quartet had brought. "Why don't you all try to fix up the place and take stock while I'm out?"

"Out? Where are you going?" Audrey asked.

"The capital building, Audrey," Floyd said. "I'm going to see if I can get what I came here for, easily."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Xyloto asked. Floyd shook his head. "It's better if I go alone, in case we have to use force later. They'd recognize your face. Stay here with the supplies, Xyloto."

Xyloto nodded, and Floyd went over to kiss Audrey. "See you later, my love," he murmured. "We'll see how things look then."

"Goodbye, Floyd," Audrey stated in response, watching as he walked out the door. "Don't get into any trouble." Floyd gave her a thumb's-up behind his back as he left, going out to the car and starting it up.

It didn't take long to drive down to the capital building where Ziggy's body was being held under "maximum security." Washington, D.C sure was a small city- a city that Floyd could remember performing in before, when he was a rock star. A cold, light rain had begun to fall by the time he got out of the car. To Floyd's surprise, the front lawn was covered with _people. _They made up a group of about fifty, moving around waving signs. Floyd couldn't read the words, for the people's backs were to him. He wondered what they could possibly be protesting, and walked down to join the crowd, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head.

"Excuse me?" Floyd said to the first person he stumbled across. "Can- can you tell me what's going on here?"

The man he had stopped looked ecstatic, his face flushed and his mouth stretched into a smile. "Oh, good! A new one for the protest!"

"What are you protesting?" Floyd asked, laying a hand on the man's shoulder.

"What do you think?" the man replied. "You do know what they're doing in this building, right? Oh God- how could you not?" His grin was becoming a bit too crazed for Floyd's liking, so Floyd slipped his hand away.

"Isn't Ziggy Stardust's body being held here?" he asked.

"Yes!" the man cried, as if he had guessed the winning answer on a game show. "The government confiscated his body and they're not letting anyone have it. Instead, they're running all these crazy tests on it, claiming that he's some-"

"Spider from Mars?" Floyd suggested, a smile on his face. The man laughed. "Yeah, yeah, that's exactly it! I mean, they think he's an alien. No joke."

"That's because he is one," called someone else from the crowd. "Get your facts straight, man."

Floyd turned to the sound of the second voice, and saw a less ragged-looking older man, holding a sign aloft. The rain was smearing the letters, but Floyd could vaguely make out, FREE ZIGGY STARDUST.

"I heard that they're trying to make a medicine out of his blood, or something like that," Floyd said to the second man. "Is that true?"

"We don't know," the man said. "But that's what we've heard too, and most of us believe it. Some of us are here on the basis of protesting against that, some of us are here to protest Ziggy's body being confiscated by the government without the whole alien part, and a few of us… well, a few of us just want to see the body, to know if he really is an alien."

"He was," Floyd mumbled. "I have no doubt of that."

The man cocked his head. "You're a Stardust fan?"

"One of the first," Floyd said. "I saw him live when he was just starting out. I'm from England."

"Pretty cool," the man said absently. "You know, it's kind of strange how quickly he became popular. And we hadn't even heard of him until a few months ago. I guess that was how long it took to get to Earth." He suddenly stopped and grinned at Floyd. "Listen to me! Talking about getting to Earth and aliens and all this junk… I never used to believe in that sci-fi crap until I saw Ziggy for the first time."

"How long have you all been out here?" Floyd asked, angling his head to show the man that he understood what he was saying.

"A week," the man said proudly. "I was here from the beginning. On the second day the police tried to shut us down, but we fought back and won. On the third day, they put up an electric fence to keep us from getting into the building. But they can't make us go home. The whole city is a mess- all the phone lines are down, and most of the time there are power outages. It's too hard to really care about a group of people our size when so much else is going on."

"Has anyone tried to get in legally?" Floyd asked. "For example, someone could claim to be related to Ziggy and ask to take the body home."

"That's been tried," the man said. He jerked his thumb over to point out a woman wandering among the crowd, not mingling with anyone. She walked alone, though there were plenty of people around her. "See that woman? She actually met Ziggy Stardust. She thought she could pull off the charade pretty well, but the officials turned her away. Said that not only did they doubt her claim, but they also weren't allowed to release the body. Apparently not even family can get in, no matter how convincing they are. And she was pretty convincing."

Floyd, staring at the woman the man had pointed out, began to get the strange, shaky feeling that he had seen her before. Her face was familiar, even from far away. But where had Floyd seen her… Suffragette City? Suddenly she turned to face Floyd head-on, and the memory came blasting back in clear detail, as if Floyd's memory was as photographic as Ziggy's. The woman in the fast-food place. The woman on the street. Joss's woman.

_Whatsername?_

Floyd murmured a parting to the man and began to make his way through the crowd, towards the woman that looked achingly familiar, but couldn't be… He had only seen her twice. How could Floyd be sure this was the same person? But he felt with certainty in his gut that this was true.

"Hello," Floyd greeted the nameless woman, who didn't look at him. Up close, Floyd began to doubt his guess. The woman's hair was shorter than the woman in the fast-food place, cut to her shoulders rather than long enough to be pulled into a ponytail. Floyd had never caught a good glimpse of her face, and her features were starting to look unfamiliar. But he couldn't ignore his instinct.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked when the woman said nothing, indicating her lack of a jacket. She lifted her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "I have a tent nearby."

"I just got here today," Floyd said, "and I want to join the protest. I hear you've met Ziggy Stardust?"

She snapped her eyes up to stare at him. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Floyd Pinkerton," Floyd said. "What's yours?" She told him.

"How did you know Ziggy?"

She narrowed her eyes, and Floyd understood her suspicions. She'd caught the way he used Ziggy's name, that tone of familiarity and respect. "We met briefly. What's it to you?"

"I wanted to know," Floyd said. "I… I met him once as well. I mean…" He took a deep breath, and the woman continued to stare. To hell with the cover story. Floyd hadn't had enough to properly think of one anyway. "Actually, I was the first person he met when he… came to Earth. The last time we spoke was on the day of his death. We were… friends. Very close friends."

She hadn't taken her eyes off of Floyd or even blinked as he recounted the facts. Her eyes did, however, grow wider and wider, though no other part of her face or body betrayed the slightest hint of emotion. Suddenly she grabbed him by the arm. "Come on. We have to talk in the tent."

Floyd followed the woman into the tent, the floor of which was cold and pretty much bare except for a blanket. They sat down together, and the woman said, "Now I remember who you are. Ziggy said he had a roommate named Floyd. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but now I understand… You're not just any Floyd. You're Pink Floyd."

"I was," Floyd agreed. "And might be again someday. What was the nature of your meeting with Ziggy?" He had a feeling he knew the answer.

She gazed up at him with cold, bleak eyes, devoid of emotion. "It will take some explaining. But I guess the bottom line is, I broke up with my boyfriend and needed something to hold onto. The night I walked out on him, I went to one of Ziggy's concerts for the first time. I was involved with drugs at the time… God, it sounds like it was so long ago, but it wasn't, only about a few months. Back in November was when he died, wasn't it? Anyway, my point is that I was addicted to heroin around the time I met Ziggy, and so none of my memories from that night could be true… I was pretty fucked up. Hell, we were both fucked up. And there we were, all fucked up, making love, though we were strangers to each other."

Floyd had gone still at the mention of a boyfriend. Could it be… She had looked down at her hands, so Floyd prompted her by saying softly, "Haushinka… what was the name of this boyfriend you broke up with? It wasn't… Joss, by any chance?" Damn him for forgetting Joss's real name.

"No," she replied. "His name was Johnny- Johnny Armstrong. He sometimes went by the title 'Jesus of Surburbia.'" She gave an ironic smile.

Floyd was struck hard by realization as the woman spoke. Johnny Armstrong… the boy Rael had met in the hospital! Jesus of Surburbia… the young man Floyd had met on the streets, the addict!

"Why do you ask?" said the woman. Floyd shrugged his shoulders. "I met him, once. On the day he met you. I recognized your face from that day. But there's no point in talking about him now. I need you to tell me about Ziggy."

"What do you want to know?" she said in a dry tone. "You claimed to be good friends with him. There's nothing I could tell you that you don't already know."

_Ziggy must not have mentioned anything specific about me, _thought Floyd. "I just want to know what your experience was like. Ziggy and I were estranged in our friendship by the time he died. I want to know what he was thinking during those last few nights. It would mean a lot to me if you told me."

The woman drew a deep breath, her shoulders rising. "Okay. I'll tell you all about my night with Ziggy Stardust. But never mention it again." Quietly, she began to speak, weaving a tale of pain and desire.

"I walked out on Johnny on the night of… November 27th, I guess it was. I was broken, completely lost, having no idea what to do with my life. I was wandering the streets, crying, when I saw the lights of the theater ahead. I didn't come in with tickets. It was pandemonium down there, with everyone trying to get in. I ended up at the very front of the stage, clutching my suitcase and ogling the bright, shining man onstage. He was so good… and, I could tell, so messed up. Just like me.

"I hadn't heard any of the songs, and I can't remember how any of them sounded now. But I loved it. There was this loud, colorful noise that pounded into me, replacing everything bad I felt with the music. It was kind of like how the drugs felt. He was so close, his sweat could have dripped onto me. And his guitar playing blew my mind. Really. He could play guitar like _no one_ on Earth.

"I don't remember how he chose me, not exactly. Everything was a blur… I think he came out after the show and picked me from the front row. He took me to his apartment in a taxi… I think that was when he told me about you. He said he had a roommate named Floyd, whom he didn't want to wake up. I remember he tasted like cherry lip gloss and smelled like goddamn citronella. I hate that smell… We went into the bedroom, and he… he asked me to give him head. But I'd never done that before, so we undressed and settled down in the way I was used to with Johnny.

"And Floyd… it was like nothing else I've ever felt. Johnny didn't know what he was doing, but Ziggy was very experienced. He seemed to know more about my body than I did myself. I mean, I didn't even know I could get turned on by some of the places he touched… But he screamed like a girl when he came. God. Nearly split my eardrums." At once sensing that she was sharing information that Floyd might find awkward, the woman blushed and moved on. Floyd filed her account of Ziggy's lovemaking skills away in his mind for if he should ever need it.

"He was melancholy and despondent after that, and got out of bed to take cocaine. I myself had stolen all of John's heroin supply, so I shot up again, as I was due for another hit. When he came back to bed, he seemed angry about something, but I didn't think he was mad at me. He was lying next to me, and we were both staring up at the ceiling, and he suddenly started rambling on death. He claimed that he couldn't die through physical means, that he'd have to get sick or drown or be poisoned if he had to die, but that he could neither die from old age nor die from being stabbed or shot. I must have expressed doubt/skepticism on this- well, who wouldn't? He claimed to be nearly invincible! Whatever I said made him really upset, and he got out of bed and went back into the main room, expecting me to follow him. I stood in the bedroom's doorway, and watched as he got out a large kitchen knife-" Floyd turned pale, starting to realize how the story was going to go- "and came back to me. He held it over his wrist, and- okay, this is where things get weird…" She smiled an apologetic smile. "I don't know if this really happened or not, but at the time it sure seemed damn real. Anyway, he… he sliced right into his wrist, like he was trying to kill himself. I think I might have screamed- he didn't say anything. He just stared down at his wrist, fixated on the way the blood was gushing out. And it wasn't normal blood, Floyd- it was white, not red. He pinched the flaps of skin together with his fingers, and then… well, after a minute or two, he took his hand away and the cut was gone. Just… gone. The skin had knitted back up, just like that. He looked up at me, and said to me- I remember this well- he said to me, 'I severed the veins, but they're healing as we speak. Do you believe me now?'

"I think I just kind of nodded and turned back to the bedroom. He took the knife back and rinsed it, and then followed me into the bed. He held me against his chest, caressing me all night long. I don't know if he slept. I don't think he did.

"The next day, I woke up and Ziggy was asleep. I got up and got dressed and then waited around, waiting for him to wake up. I'd never done the one-night-stand thing before; I didn't know what to do the morning after. When Ziggy woke up, he didn't seem to see me. He walked right past me and went to the closet, opening the door and choosing an outfit. (God, all of his clothes were so exotic…) I asked if I could go, and he mumbled a goodbye, not really seeing me. So I left- you weren't up yet, thankfully- and went away, out of town. I went to my mother's and recovered from my addiction. It was terrible that Ziggy was killed. As soon as I heard what they were doing to the body, I came here immediately and joined the protest." She looked up, her eyes wild, and laughed caustically without smiling. "Johnny always called me a rebel… And now I finally am one. Down with the establishment!" Her frame shook with humorless laughter.

"Why did you claim to be a family member to obtain Ziggy's body?" Floyd asked. "Why did it have to be you? Were you really that convincing?"

She tossed her head. "Well, I'm not the only one here who's had sexual relations with Ziggy Stardust- some of the guys even qualify for that- but I am the only one who got anything out of it. I'm pregnant with his kid. I'm the closest to a family member that he had on this planet."

The words struck Floyd hard. _Pregnant-! "What?!"_

The woman opened her mouth, but Floyd composed himself. "I'm sorry, Haushinka… but how do you know you're pregnant by Ziggy and not by John?"

"I know," she said simply. "Johnny and I always used a condom. The first time we did it was the one exception. Ziggy wasn't wearing one that night. He specifically insisted on not wearing one, in fact. I know it couldn't have been from the one time with Johnny, because I had my period that month. I haven't had it in the months after I did it with Ziggy."

Floyd slowly rubbed his temples. "My God." _Why are they always getting pregnant pregnant pregnant? First Mylo, and now this… _"You do know that you have to have the baby, right?"

"Maybe," the woman said nonchalantly. "I might have an abortion. I mean, I barely knew the guy… I was just using the pregnancy excuse as a means to obtain the body, and it failed."

"Don't you dare abort," Floyd snapped under his breath. "This is the last surviving part of Ziggy on Earth. This is the first human-Martian hybrid. You have to give birth. And that means you're going to have to start taking care of yourself, too. No more standing around in the rain. No more sleeping outside in a tent with only a blanket to keep warm."

"But what's the point in giving birth?" she asked. "The world's ending in four years anyway. Some lifespan this baby is going to have."

"Haushinka, this wouldn't be any baby. This is Ziggy's son or daughter. This baby would be able to spread the Martian bloodline. Forget about the world ending for a moment- if the apocalypse is stalled for some reason, or if we manage to escape Planet Earth, you've got to make sure this baby will live."

She lowered her eyes and said nothing, curling her arms over her stomach.

"I've come here because I want to rescue Ziggy," Floyd murmured. "Even though he's dead. I loved him very much… and he deserves a proper burial in the place he loved, Mars. The first step is stealing the body, though."

Her head snapped up. "Why are you telling me this? Do you expect me to join your crusade? Even if you end up breaking in and confiscating his body- even if you do, somehow, get to Mars and bury him- what _good _would it all do? All you're doing, Pink Floyd, is honoring a man that is dead. We're all going to die in the end anyway! This casualty is nothing- it's only the first of many. He's only received this much attention because he's Ziggy Stardust, an alien and a rock star who gave us the only chance of saving the world. You're not an alien, Floyd, but you certainly were a rock star. And if you focus your energy on that instead of on a dead man, whom you can do nothing else for, you're going to get somewhere good."

Floyd sighed. Everyone was telling him to become a musician again, that it would help him get places that he'd never gone before. But he personally thought it was more pointless than respecting his dead friend.

The woman sighed. "I just don't want to die, okay? I've lived on Earth for twenty years. I don't want to see it gone."

"I understand," Floyd said. She met his eyes cautiously, blinking away the dazed pain.

"This thing… this baby isn't going to come bursting out of my chest or anything, is it?"

Floyd had to laugh at that. "I don't think so. Ziggy was from Mars, but he was just as human as you and me. Maybe even more so."

They sat in silence, and then Floyd asked, "Is there a real leader for this protest?"

"Not really," she said. "That guy you were talking to before is probably the closest to that."

"Thank you." Floyd left the tent and walked back out into the drizzling rain and mud. The voices of the protesters were raised, singing at the top of their lungs.

"_There's a starman, waiting in the sky_

"_He'd like to come and meet us, but he thinks he'll blow our minds_

"_There's a starman, waiting in the sky_

"_He's told us not to blow it, 'cause he knows it's all worthwhile_

"_He told me:_

"'_Let the children use it! Let the children lose it!_

"'_Let all the children boogie!'"_

The song pulled at Floyd's heartstrings in a way it never had before. Hearing this crowd of people who all had cared about Ziggy Stardust now singing as one after his death made 'Starman' more poignant than ever, if it had been poignant to start out with.

The man that the woman had claimed to be close to the protest leader was at the front of the crowd, singing with all his heart. Floyd sidled up next to him and opened his mouth, emoting along with the rest. The man looked surprised to see Floyd, but he didn't stop the song. When it was over, Floyd took the man's shoulder.

"Hey. Haushinka says that you're the closest person this protest has to a leader. Is that true?"

Looking taken aback, the man replied, "I wouldn't call myself that. I don't think there's any official leader."

"All right," Floyd mumbled. "Leader or not, I want to ask you something. Do you know where the main source of electricity is in D.C.?"

"Of course," the man said.

"Are you able to get in there?"

"Well, no," the man said. "There are guards posted around there, though not as many as around this building. They don't have much to guard, anyway, as there's already so many blackouts around here."

"Good," Floyd said. "Now listen to me. I know we just met each other today, but I have an idea to ensure that your protest turns out the way you want it to. Spread the word to everyone that you're calling off the protest. Convince everyone that it would be better if they all went home. Specifically make sure that Haushinka leaves and doesn't try to stay in the city a day longer. Once you're a safe distance away from the capital here, I want you to round up a group of protestors that you can trust. Explain to them that the giving up thing was just a ploy, and then ask them to accompany you to the power plant tomorrow morning. There, you will incapacitate the guards and destroy the main control panel, causing a massive blackout throughout the D.C. area. The only downside to this plan is that the electricity will never come back on if you break the controls, but don't worry, that was bound to happen at some point. The blackout not only will cause confusion in the capital building, but it will also shut down the electrical fence for good. Once we're sure it's safe, I'm going to bring some people along with me to break into the capital and steal Ziggy's body. I want you to take credit for this entire idea. Don't breathe my name to anyone."

"But- what is your name?" the man asked.

"Pink Floyd," Floyd said. He released his shoulder. "Do as I say, or Ziggy's soul will never be at rest. You got the details?"

"I- I think so," the man said, his eyes wide. "But Pink…"

Floyd could have smiled knowingly. This man had picked up quickly. "But what?"

"What are you going to do? And- and why?"

"I loved Ziggy," Floyd said. "For love, a man would do anything. As for what I'm going to do, I think you already know."

He began to walk away, and the man called after him, "Wait! Wait! I can't do this on my own…"

"You can," Floyd said, never looking back.

Back at the old hotel, Audrey and Mylo were cleaning the place up while Xyloto scoped out all of the other rooms and Eva played with her stuffed animals that Audrey had packed. Xyloto returned to the lobby in time to hear Mylo say, "You know what I would really love right now? Chocolate cheesecake."

"Well, there's no sign of Rael in the upper part of the hotel," Xyloto said. "Why cheesecake, Mylo? Any particular reason, or is this the start of the food cravings?"

Audrey burst out laughing. "Xyloto, she's only three months pregnant. She won't be having food cravings until a while in!"

"It's actually for a reason," Mylo smiled. "That's my favorite kind of cake ever, and it's been so long since I've had any kind of sweet food. I was just thinking about my family and how my mom always bought chocolate cheesecake at the end of each school year as a celebration." Her voice drifted off as she gazed around the room. "I miss them…"

Xyloto came over and wrapped his arms around Mylo. "We'll drop in on them soon. Don't worry."

"Mylo is pregnant?!" sounded a voice from the hall.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and whirled around. Rael stood in the hall, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, eyes wide. Mylo broke out of Xyloto's embrace and ran to him.

"Yes, Rael, I am. Xyloto is the father…" His mouth opened, but Mylo cut in with, "I'm so sorry!"

Rael closed his mouth and gazed levelly at Mylo. She reached out and tried to touch him, but he shook her off.

"It's okay," Rael said at last. "You don't have to be sorry about your affections."

"No, Rael, I'm sorry for hurting you with them," Mylo said, her voice wavering in pain.

"It's okay," Rael repeated. "We've been doing some thinking, and… we came to the conclusion that we can never love you. You're obviously happy with Xyloto, and we don't want to fuck that up. We don't think we'd ever really be happy with you, anyway. We mean, at least Xyloto has a dick." Xyloto raised his eyebrows at this.

Rael stared into Mylo's brown eyes. "So, if it's okay with you, we don't think we'll be talking to you very much anymore. But we've made the decision to join up with you and help Floyd rescue Ziggy's body. Because we liked Ziggy; he was a great guy, and we can offer our strength to Floyd's mission or whatever the hell he's calling it. But after that, we'll go away and live on our own. We don't want to bother you or anything."

"Rael, you're not being a burden by staying with us," Audrey said. "If you don't have anywhere else to go, I'd strongly suggest you stick around."

Just then the door opened, and Floyd walked in, shivering and wet from the rain. "Hello, gang," he greeted the quintet inside, seeing Rael but not mentioning his presence. "God, it's cold out there."

"Rael has decided to join us," Audrey announced.

"Good," Floyd said, going over to his wife and placing a freezing arm around her. "I've developed a plan to put into action by tomorrow. There are people down there protesting, Audrey. It's amazing."

After removing his wet articles of clothing (his jacket and shoes) and sitting down with Audrey and Eva, Floyd recounted everything he had seen down at the capitol building, and his plans he had made for a blackout that would make it easier for him to break into the capital. He put special emphasis on the woman he had met, who was carrying Ziggy's baby, and who had been in love with Johnny Armstrong.

Rael whistled. "If we ever meet Johnny again, we can tell him we know her name!"

Audrey was more concerned with the plan. "Floyd, how is this going to work? What if this man doesn't follow through on his word?"

"He will," Floyd said. "I saw it in his eyes. He's going to help. All we need to know now if who's coming with me."

"I will," Xyloto said, while Mylo declined- "I would, except that I'm pregnant now, and it might be dangerous…"

"We're coming," Rael said. "Give those bastard scientists something to look forward to!" He drew out his razor and polished it on his jeans.

Audrey shook her head. "Eva will need me here."

"All right," Floyd said. "That makes three of us, and that's probably enough. Come here, Xyloto and Rael. We'll discuss what to do tomorrow."

After talking over their plans and refining them until they were perfect, the group sat down for dinner. Rael stood back while Mylo and Xyloto raided their packs looking for food. A small hand tugged on the end of his jacket. Rael looked down and found himself staring at a small girl with reddish-brown pigtails and large brown puppy dog eyes. She was undeniably Floyd's daughter.

"What is it?" Rael said. He had never felt comfortable around children, and shifted his weight awkwardly while the girl stared at him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"We're Rael. Who are you?"

"Eva Pinkerton," she said, smiling. "That's Mummy, and that's Daddy, and that's Mylo, and that's Xy- Zy-Luh-Toe."

Rael smiled the smallest of smiles. "We've met them already. What are you doing here in a place like this?" Despite himself, he couldn't help but let his smooth, sly voice take an upper hand for a moment, speaking as if he was chatting up a girl in a bar in New York City instead of talking to a five-year-old child.

"Mummy and Daddy brought me here," she said. "What's that?" She pointed to Rael's scar, sitting right under his eye on his cheek.

Rael sighed. "It's a scar. Xyloto hurt us. He gave it to us."

"Are you friends with Xyloto?" Eva asked innocently.

Rael looked out at Xyloto, his arms curled around Mylo's shoulder, Mylo laughing and kissing him on the lips. "No, not really," he answered truthfully, and laughed a little.

"They're in love," Eva said, pointing to Mylo and Xyloto.

"Yes, we know," Rael said. "And good fucking luck to them." He turned and walked away, back to the farthest corner of the room.

That night, Floyd was haunted by one of the more disturbing dreams he had had since Ziggy's death. He was onstage, sweating and staring out the invisible crowd, which he couldn't see for the spotlight that was trained on him. Every time he tried to open his mouth and sing, no noise would come out. He struggled to open his mouth, to make some sound to drown out the wild beating of his heart, and the fans' roar grew louder and louder, screaming for blood. Suddenly three man-shaped shadows flew out, making straight for Floyd, and he tried to run away but couldn't move any part of his body. Frozen as he was, Floyd had no choice but to let the shadows knock him to the stage floor and plunge their long, sharp knives into his body… and suddenly he found he could scream, and scream he did, his voice wailing louder and louder as the shadows stabbed him again and again until one blade found his heart and _it was all over_

Floyd woke up screaming, his body shaking all over. As soon as he got a grip on himself, he arose and walked around the dark hotel room that he and Audrey had chosen to spend the night in, rubbing his arms, though it wasn't very cold. The dream had felt so real, as if it had actually happened. Floyd's throat filled with a lump, and he gasped out a choked sob- but there would be no crying anymore. What had happened had happened. Ziggy was dead, and it was Floyd's fault.

_No, _Floyd's mind tried to tell him, taking on Audrey's persona. _It was the Spiders From Mars' faults. They were the ones who killed Ziggy, not you._

Still not convinced, Floyd went out to the balcony- for he'd chosen a room on the crumbling second floor- and shivered in the cold January air. His heart was beating more slowly now. _Ziggy, _Floyd thought, directing his mind at the capitol building that lay so far off in view. _Ziggy, I love you and I miss you and I'm sorry. I'll get you out of there soon._

And from deep within himself, he could swear he heard someone answer, _It's all right, Floyd._

Climbing back into bed, Floyd recalled a passage that Ziggy had wrote in his diary in Suffragette City, before he had gotten corrupted. In his mind, Floyd had read it in a passionate voice, which only added to the heartbreak.

_I think out of all the things in the world I could possibly want, what I want most is love. That's all I ask for from the humans, really- they give me their love, and I give them songs. It's been too long, far too long, since I felt loved by anyone. The Pinkertons- Floyd's family who found me after my crash- like me and care about me, but they don't _love _me, not to the extent that I want anyway. I miss being adored. I miss the feeling of someone's smile directed at me, or someone's arms around me. Even the smallest word of praise can take me higher. But having lived on that wretched spacecraft for at least a million years, I've almost forgotten what it's like to be loved. My family and friends, everyone that I ever cared about, everyone I LOVED, have all been dead for about the same amount of time. But if I have to bring them into this, it's not living without their love that half-killed me up in space. It was living with the memory of how easily they turned to NOT love me. The woman I fell in love with suddenly turned her back on me. I can still remember the hard set in your eyes as you walked out that night… I just wanted you back so much. No matter how much I love you, I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you for that. And that was the last time I saw you._

_I wrote one of my songs, 'Soul Love,' when I was sitting up in the spacecraft all by myself, trying not to be driven mad. It's the first song I'd ever wrote that wasn't on flute, and the only song I wrote during that time. The words ring true to my situation, both now and then. "All I've got is a love of loving, and love is not loving." I recently told someone I'd never fallen in love, and that was a lie. But it hurts far too much to think of how it actually played out. Love's a bastard, it really is. It rotted me, drained me, and was a disease._

_Little did you know, _Floyd thought as he snuggled up closer to Audrey, nestling into her hair, _that you were loved here on Earth. I loved you ten times as much as those damn groupies did. And I never got the chance to tell you. _

cominghomeagain


	32. Mama, Just Killed A Man

Chapter Thirty-One: _Mama, Just Killed A Man_

The next day was the day of Floyd's big plan to break into the capital building with Xyloto and Rael at each side and steal Ziggy's body back from the evil government. Each man had different reactions to what was coming up. Xyloto was a bit apprehensive, but excited about getting the chance to use his spray paints again. Rael was looking forward to a bit of the old ultraviolence. Floyd was looking on the dark side as well as the bright side. He said goodbye to Audrey cautiously- "If I don't come back by sundown tonight, assume that I've been caught, and go on without me." Audrey tried to respond, but Floyd held his fingers over her lips. "I am not joking or trying to be melodramatic, Audrey. I want you, Mylo, Eva, and whoever has gotten out of it to go back home or to the safest place possible as soon as you can. Your life means much more to me than mine does."

"Floyd," Audrey sighed. "You're pushing this out of perspective. They're not going to hurt you."

"Of course they aren't," Floyd said sarcastically. "And maybe Ziggy's still alive, too."

After eating a hurriedly-put-together breakfast- food supplies were starting to run low- Floyd went to the front of the hotel and checked for the telltale signs of a blackout. Rael went off to sneak another apple without getting caught by Audrey, and Mylo and Xyloto said their quiet goodbyes.

"Rael, are you trying to take our food?" Audrey asked, pulling the backpack away.

"No," Rael said in his most sincere voice.

"Then how do you explain the apple behind your back?"

"There's an apple behind our back?" Rael blurted, pulling it out and observing it. "Well, jeez, we have no idea how it could have gotten there."

"Nice try. Give it back, please."

At the doorframe, Floyd noticed a sudden change in the lights of outside. All of the streetlamps had flickered out, all at once. He grinned. _Thank you. _

"Xyloto, Rael," Floyd called. "It's time. Come with me.'

"Fuck," Rael muttered. "We're still hungry, man."

"Maybe when you get back you can have something to eat," Floyd responded testily. "Right now, we have to get going. I don't know how long the blackout will last."

With one last kiss and longing look at Mylo, Xyloto joined Floyd at his side. Floyd went over to Eva, kissed her, and told her to be a good girl while he was gone. Then he, Xyloto, and Rael made their way out, Audrey wringing her hands in the doorway like a proper forgotten lover.

"Floyd, if you don't mind our saying so, that woman you married sure is a great choice," Rael said as they walked together to the capital building.

Floyd laughed. "What do you mean by that? You're not fancying her, are you?"

"Ugh, no way, man," Rael sniffed. "She's old. Like you. Sorry, no offense." Floyd had a hard time holding his tongue, but he managed just in time to avoid spitting out a rude comeback. "We mean, she's perfect for you. We can tell that just by looking. You're all in love and shit, and the way you guys look at each other is almost like you're trying to save each other's souls. Like you'd go crazy if she wasn't there."

Floyd started- Ziggy had said pretty much the same thing when mentioning how Floyd was different from anyone else he'd met recently, only put more succinctly. "That's because I would, Rael. Audrey has saved my life several times in the past, to be honest."

"We wish someone felt that way for us," Rael muttered, and now it was Xyloto's turn to hold back his rude comments. He still couldn't believe that Rael had been in love with the woman who was now the mother of his unborn child.

Upon approaching the capital building, Floyd couldn't keep the smile off of his face. All of the tents were gone, and a few black-suited people were swarming around the no-longer-electric fence, trying to turn it on. It couldn't be said that their guard had been let down, but at least Floyd suspected that he and his accomplices would have an easier time breaking in than before. He stopped Rael and Xyloto and whispered orders to them, glancing around to make sure no one was watching.

"All right. So here's what we're going to do. Xyloto, you go to the side of the building and start painting, but don't use too much paint in your message. You might need it later. Rael, you see if you can go in through the back way. Use force if you have to, but don't kill anyone. I'm going to follow you in a little while after scouting. I'll be coming in as soon as Xyloto's distraction has been proven to work."

Xyloto and Rael nodded, and Rael gave Floyd a fist-bump. "Good luck, guys," he said. "We can't wait!" Floyd nodded at the two as they ran off in different directions, Rael to the back of the building to find an entryway and Xyloto to the side to graffiti the hell out of the place.

As soon as Xyloto arrived, he knew it was time to make a big statement. He'd been kept awake for an hour in the night, fretting over what exactly he was going to say. The capital building looked so inviting, so handsome in its structure. What sort of message would fit the best on it? Xyloto removed a can of spray paint, slipped on his gloves, and shook it up while considering, taking his sweet time. Finally he had the perfect idea. He remembered seeing a certain message left in the closed-off part of the suburbs where he had spent most of his life, a message that really stood out to him. Xyloto expertly aimed his can at the wall and painted, slowly and surely:

THE STARMAN LIVES.

Xyloto smiled, capping the can off. Ziggy would have been proud. That was bound to freak those government officials out. And sure enough, here they came…

Xyloto let them get a good look of the side of his face before grabbing his spray can and hightailing it out of there. Floyd would have already gone in after Rael; now it was Xyloto's turn. He ran to the back entrance and sped through the door.

Floyd came inside with a flashlight to see where he was going. He wished that he'd been able to do reconnaissance the day before to find out where exactly Ziggy's body was being held, but there had been no time. Ah well, Floyd was sure he could find the way to go easily enough. He traveled down the hall, watched by the blinking red lights of the security cameras, and prayed that Rael and Xyloto would have gotten to the control rooms in time. The cameras were wireless, not requiring electricity to work, and they may very well have had night vision.

As soon as Rael slipped through the door, he was bathed in darkness. With shaking hands, he managed to turn on the light and quell some of that old fear that would never completely go away. He glided on silent feet down the hall, listening for the sound of human breathing. No sign of life, so let's go on to the control room, following the signs…

Xyloto entered the control room, which was normally lit by the glow of several TV screens. Not now, however; the blackout has caused them to fall silent, leaving nothing for the film to transmit to. But the film would still be there, and this was why it was important to assume control of the panel. Two guards were stationed in the room that Xyloto entered. They turned around as he came in, shock painting their expressions. Xyloto shone the flashlight in their eyes, and they shielded them. "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here?"

"Mind your own damn business!" Xyloto answered, spraying the guards between the eyes with his paint. They yelped in pain, and Xyloto took advantage of their momentary blindness by leaping on them and knocking each, one by one, against the wall. They slumped to the floor, and Xyloto made sure they were breathing before taking the wheeling chair and flashing a message to Floyd through the security camera, a signal they had agreed upon- move the camera up, to the right, and down. He hoped Floyd received it, as he wasn't sure where exactly Floyd was at the moment.

Floyd was traveling down yet another hall, on his way to the main room where Ziggy's body was being held, when he saw the signal. He relaxed. Either Xyloto or Rael must have succeeded in their part of the mission. Now where was that damn room…?

Floyd took a left, counted out the doors, and found himself confronted with the area where Ziggy's body lay. There could be no mistaking the title on the door, which could have said "Holding Tank" and meant the same thing. Floyd turned the doorknob, expecting it to come easily, but the door didn't budge. Floyd gave the door an experimental kick, but it still didn't move. He stepped back and looked up at the door, the meaning of the situation descending on him like a pack of piranhas.

_I've gotten this far to be stopped by a LOCK?!_

"Dammit," Floyd hissed, pacing the hall for a brief moment. If he didn't get moving, the whole operation could fail. How could he break through the door? He could put all his weight behind it and jump on it, but that might hurt his fragile body more. He could try to pick the lock, but that would require more time and effort than he had to spare at the moment. _If only Rael was here…_

And then the solution came to him, so obvious that he could have slapped himself. If there were guards stationed on the inside of the building, then most likely there would be a guard posted within the room of highest security. Floyd approached the room and gave it a simple knock. The door opened.

"State the password," the guard said.

"I don't know the password," Floyd answered honestly.

The man looked curiously at him. "Were you not here when we agreed on one?"

"I must have been asleep," Floyd said, a touch of apology in his voice. "I'm sorry. I don't usually skip meetings, but that one was necessary."

The guard gave one bark of a laugh. "I understand. The password is 'moonage daydream.'"

"Oh, thank you," Floyd said, pretending the name wasn't familiar- it had been the title of one of Ziggy's songs.

"You can get in," the guard said, stepping aside. Floyd walked in, and just before the guard could close the door, made a rush at him, shoving him hard enough to fall over into the hall. Floyd slammed the door shut behind him, and as he turned around, heard banging on the door.

"Sorry," Floyd called, crossing his arms and surveying the room around him. "I've changed the password for today, and I don't feel like telling you."

Meanwhile, Rael had made his way up to the second main control room. He opened the surprisingly-unlocked door and broke in. To his surprise, only one guard was in there. He jumped out of his seat and aimed a gun at Rael's chest. "Who are you?" he thundered. "What are you doing in here?"

"We're stealing Ziggy Stardust's body, what do you think?" Rael said, reaching for his razor. The guard tightened his grip on his pistol. "Drop your weapon! Put your hands in the air and face the wall!" Rael ran the razor's edge over his finger. "I SAID HANDS IN THE AIR!"

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all before," Rael muttered before shining his flashlight directly in the guard's eyes and making a leap for it. A shot rang out, but Rael managed to avoid it. He launched himself onto the guard's chest, barreling into him and knocking him against the control panel. The guard fumbled for his gun, but Rael knocked it out of his hand and onto the floor, resulting in it going off again. The guard screamed in pain as the bullet hit him in the foot.

"Now, we can do this quietly," Rael said. "You could sit right there and watch as we take over the controls. Might be better that way, even, as you could tell us how to work them. We can and will hurt you if you try to step out of line."

He pressed the razor against the guard's throat and laughed chillingly. "Or maybe you'd like to do it the hard way. Have a little rumble- what do you say to that?"

The guard, gasping in agony, managed to bravely shove Rael off of him and race for the door. But Rael, intent on fulfilling his part of the plan to its furthest extent, leapt on his back and clung to the guard like ivy as the guard tried to shake him off.

"Not very well-prepared, are you?" Rael sneered. "Wasn't expecting a surprise visit?"

"Get off me!" the guard howled, and his words reminded Rael so much of John that he wanted to laugh. Then the guard backed up towards the wall, and Rael realized what he was going to do. He slipped off his back and darted to his front side. The guard surged forward, but Rael met him with the razor, aiming for his throat-

And slicing into it-

And severing the main artery, and cutting an entire flap of skin loose-

And backing away in sudden shock, the razor in hand dripping red blood, as the guard gave a little gurgle and fell to the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head.

_What?_

_Did we kill him?_

Rael crept forward with the flashlight and watched the blood pouring out of the gash in the guard's throat. He was completely still.

An uneasy feeling settled into Rael's bones. _Yes… we did kill him…_

_Use force if you have to, but don't kill anyone, _Floyd's voice sounded in his head. Rael hadn't thought he would have to. He might have enjoyed beating people up for fun, but killing them was out of the question. Until, apparently, now.

Shaking, Rael sat down in the chair and hastily sent the signal to Floyd. A metallic taste filled his mouth, which he tried to get rid of by swallowing hard, again and again. _We failed Floyd's orders. We failed Floyd's orders. We failed Floyd._

Floyd, at the moment, didn't feel like anyone had failed him. He was gazing around the room in complete shock, taking everything in. A large tank in the middle of the floor held a watery solution, and inside the tank was none other than his old friend and secret lover, Ziggy Stardust himself. At the sight of his body, Floyd felt something flutter inside of him, as if his own soul was trying to escape his skin.

Floyd came closer, peering into the tank by the light of the flashlight, and the lantern that it appeared the guard had been using before that was set up on a table. He pressed his hand to the glass and stared. Ziggy's body was in a terrible state. His chest was cut open, and Floyd could see that several organs were missing. Glancing around the room, he discovered more containers of the solution, holding what looked to be a heart, a stomach, a liver in each one… All of the body parts were discolored, white to fit with Ziggy's blood. Floyd pushed back his nausea, looking back towards the tank. Poor, poor Ziggy…

Thank God they had left his head intact, at least. Or at least it looked to be intact. Floyd stared at his old friend's closed eyes, his beautiful, sharp cheekbones, his thin lips ripe for kissing, his strangely pointed ears. Even in death, Ziggy Stardust was the most beautiful man Floyd had ever seen, and the only one he had ever been attracted to. The dye in his hair had faded from sitting in the watery solution, and was now bleached-blond, with dark black roots. Floyd wondered that if he opened Ziggy's eyes, would he find those mismatched pupils that he knew and loved, or would Ziggy's right eye have become dilated in response to the fear he felt during his last moments on Earth?  
Floyd lingered at the tank, knowing he shouldn't waste precious time, but unable to finish what he had come there to do. "Ziggy… I don't know if you can hear me right now, wherever you are, whatever you are… But I wanted to say anyway, I'm sorry." Floyd swallowed, gazing upon the dead face of the man he had loved. "I love you, and I'm sorry. That's really all I have to say."

He walked around to the other side of the tank, looking for a way to retrieve Ziggy's body while at the same time talking to Ziggy, trying to calm his soul. "I wish I knew if you could hear me now. I wish I knew where you were. Of course I believe that God has a place for you in Heaven, but I'm not quite sure if I believe in Heaven. If you are anywhere near here, for God's sake, don't look in the tank. You'd never want to see yourself all cut up, presented as an experiment for those fucking scientists… I know I don't want to see you like this."

Surprised with how calm his voice sounded- for within, Floyd's soul was screaming- Floyd finally decided to give the tank a huge shove. It crashed to the floor, spilling the solution out, and Floyd darted in to grab Ziggy's mutilated body. He lifted him into his arms, just as he had done after Ziggy's death, just as he had done when Ziggy was wounded in the fight against the drivers, just as he and Audrey had done together that first night when Ziggy had crash-landed in their yard. And unlike those times, Floyd couldn't help himself anymore. Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned in to give Ziggy a long-awaited kiss on the lips. But Ziggy was never going to respond to him now. His lips no longer tasted of life- instead, they were cold and contained the bitter taste of the solution that had been used to preserve his body. Floyd pulled away and felt tears stinging his eyes, but he ignored them. He knelt on the ground and opened up the bag he had decided to use to hold Ziggy's body, very gently sliding him in, as if Ziggy could actually feel it. As soon as Ziggy's body was out of sight, Floyd felt the wild stirring in his soul subside.

He stood up and looked for the containers holding Ziggy's internal organs. Floyd didn't know if it was a custom for Martians to be buried with all of their organs intact, but either way, he didn't want to just leave them. He gathered all of the jars up in his arms and slipped them into the body bag as well. Ziggy's body had always been light, due to his characteristic thinness- it was no struggle to lift the bag over his shoulder and walk out. Floyd chose the second exit to leave by, as the guard from before might have still been outside. As he walked through the door, the power suddenly came back on, bathing everything in a bright light.

Rael was startled as the lights came back on, whirling around in his rolling chair. For the first time, he saw the body of the guard that he had slain in vivid detail. And at once he was unable to stop screaming and screaming and screaming.

The trio met up near Xyloto's control room and began walking as quickly as possible. The escape plan hadn't been as well-thought-out as the entry plan. Floyd assumed that they could leave through the way they'd come in, and they'd fight the guards that noticed them. As soon as Xyloto caught sight of Ziggy's body bag, his eyes widened, but he said nothing. Rael concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, fighting the images that were welling up in his brain of the dead man lying on the floor, Rael's razor stained with blood… He quickly took the lead to avoid having Floyd or Xyloto notice his expression.

However, Xyloto did notice that something seemed… off about the way Rael was moving. He was walking quickly along in front, his hands jammed into his pockets, looking as if he was trying to hide from someone. Xyloto sidled up to Rael and glanced over at him. "Hey, Rael, are you all right?" Rael wouldn't look at him. "Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" Rael blurted, sounding unconvincing. "Why do you think that something is?"

Xyloto shrugged. "You don't look very good. You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Rael shuddered- Xyloto was close enough on that one. Seeing the shudder, Xyloto asked, "Did something happen back in the room with the guard?"

"No!" Rael cried. "Nothing's happened! Now leave us alone!" He quickened his pace, trying to get away from Xyloto, but the latter boy just matched his stride. "Come on, Rael, I know you're lying. Just tell me what's wrong!" He reached out and grabbed Rael's shoulder. Rael stopped walking, violently shrugging Xyloto off of him. He glared angrily, his lower lip trembling.

"Fuck _OFF! _You don't care about us! You never did! You always hated us and you called us a _half-breed! _You and Mylo and Floyd and everyone else- you all don't give a fucking damn about us! No one likes us… no one…" His voice shook, rising and falling with the effort of keeping back tears. "No one…" Rael repeated, his eyes seeming to glaze over, seeing something that wasn't there. He was babbling idiotically. "No one LIKES us!"

Xyloto stared, surprised and concerned. "Are you… crying?"

"No!" Rael screamed, and gave Xyloto a shove. "WE'RE NOT _CRYING!" _And he took off running down the hall, blind to where he was going. Xyloto tried to make a move to follow him, but could only stand blankly, shocked. "Floyd!"

Floyd was coming up behind them, lugging Ziggy's body bag. He looked utterly weary, as if he'd aged ten years since breaking into the capital building. Xyloto nearly hesitated to mention it, as Floyd looked wasted and close to the breaking point. But he had to say something… "Um… did you see that?"

"See what?" Floyd muttered. "I certainly _heard _something."

"Rael ran off when I tried to ask him if he was okay," Xyloto told Floyd. "He looked kind of spooked, you know? But he ran off. He's really angry- I'm worried."

Floyd stared at Xyloto as if the weight on his back had just gained several pounds. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Well, I don't know," Xyloto said. "Just go talk to Rael. I think he's having a mental breakdown."

Floyd wondered if this was a reference to the end of his music career, but remembered that Xyloto didn't know much about the life of Pink Floyd. He didn't ask why he had to be the one to talk to Rael. Instead, he thrust the body bag into Xyloto's arms. "Take care of Ziggy. For God's sake, get out of here safely. Make for the hotel and wait for Rael and me. If we don't come back before sundown, we've been caught. _Be careful." _Xyloto struggled to hold Ziggy's body bag comfortably, hoping he could be trusted with it. "Okay," he said carefully. "Goodbye, Floyd." They parted, and Floyd started down the hallway, following the direction where Rael had gone.

He found Rael a long ways down the corridor, slumped against the wall. He was curled into a ball, his knees pulled against his chest and his head buried in his arms. His back was heaving with sobs. Floyd dropped to the ground and gently touched Rael's shoulder. Rael started a bit under the touch, and Floyd whispered, "Rael, it's me. It's Floyd." That only seemed to make Rael sob harder. He pushed his hands into his shaggy hair, eyes shut. Floyd moved his hand down to Rael's back and left it there, saying nothing, waiting until a few minutes had passed and Rael was cried out and sat trembling against the wall.

"Are you all right?" Floyd murmured. He didn't know why he was speaking so softly- he and Rael were the only people around in the corridor. This should have worried Floyd- where had they all gone?- but for the moment, all he cared about was Rael's well-being.

Rael lifted his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, seemingly embarrassed that Floyd had caught him crying. He shook his head in response to Floyd's query and looked away down the hall. Floyd wrapped his arm around Rael's still-shaking shoulders. "Don't worry, Rael. It's going to be fine. What happened?"

"We… we killed a man," Rael whispered, his voice broken and raw. "We didn't mean to, we swear… It was only in self-defense! He attacked us, and… what else could we do with a razor?"

Floyd felt it would be a very cruel time to point out that Rael had been the one who insisted on bringing the razor in the first place.

Rael sniffed and swallowed hard, dragging his jacket sleeve across his eyes. "You're going to hate us. You're all going to hate us. We failed your orders not to kill anybody. You and Mylo and Xyloto and your family… none of you will even want to look at us again." He choked on a twisted, self-deprecating laugh. "Not like any of you ever liked us in the first place! You thought we were a wackjob, Floyd, when we first met you. You don't really want us around. And Xyloto always did hate us… He refused to help us escape from the drivers, even though he was standing right there! Mylo must not like us enough if she chose Xyloto over us. The only person we ever loved besides John, and she… she hates us… This is your mess that we're stuck in, Floyd. We really don't belong. Don't belong here, don't belong there… Hell, we don't belong fucking anywhere! Face it, we've never fit in with anyone. Even if we died, we doubt anyone would care… They'd probably be happy such a burden has gone! And now that we've murdered that man, we deserve to be murdered in return. It's the only way."

"Stop!" Floyd cut in, shaking his head. "Rael, just stop it. Stop talking like that."

"Like what?" Rael mocked bitterly. "Using the plural pronoun?"

"No," Floyd said. "Stop beating yourself up over this. Everyone deserves a chance at life, Rael. Even if you accidentally killed that man, you don't deserve to die in return. I can guarantee you that neither Mylo nor Xyloto would want that to happen. I know I wouldn't. The world's going to end in four years anyway- it's stupid to die early."

Rael quieted, his shivers beginning to subside. Floyd didn't remove his hand from Rael's back. He lowered his voice and spoke softly again. "And even though you did fail my orders, I have no problem with that. I could never hate someone as brave as you are. Honestly, it takes a lot of courage to agree to my plan and to help pull it off. I'm very proud of how you handled this today."

Floyd patted Rael's back, and the latter finally turned his head to look at Floyd.

"Please…" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please take our razor… we don't want it…"

Floyd withdrew his hand as Rael rummaged around in his jeans pockets, finally emerging with his bloody razor. Rael passed it over to Floyd and covered his face as Floyd put it away, his body racked with another shivering spasm. "Oh God… We're sorry."

"It's all right," Floyd said. He watched Rael until the spasm passed, and then got to his feet, offering a helping hand. "I think it's time we got going. They're going to be looking for us soon." Rael took Floyd's hand and hauled himself up. They began walking briskly down the corridor together.

"You should never be ashamed of crying in front of anyone, least of all me," Floyd said, remembering painfully how he had told Ziggy it was all right to cry in front of him, and how Ziggy had lied and told Floyd he wasn't crying. "I don't mind it in the least. No one will mock you for it, and if they do you shouldn't be bothered. It takes a lot of strength to show your emotions so publically. People should _admire _you for it."

Rael nodded at the advice, but he truly was embarrassed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually cried about anything; it almost felt like this time was the first time. He now remembered why he didn't cry often- it was never decent or dignified. His eyes always turned red, so that anyone could tell that he'd been crying. Rael was purposefully looking away from Floyd, for fear that the older man would notice.

But Floyd did notice. As they headed on towards the back exit, he murmured to Rael, "When we get back to the hotel, you should go run some cold water and give your face a good wash, and then go lie down in your room for a while. I'll tell Xyloto to keep out if you want. Just take it easy for the rest of the day."

"Thank you," Rael mumbled, nodding, and Floyd put his arm around him. Rael was surprised by this gesture, as he didn't think anyone had ever been very affectionate to him before- besides Marina and the Lamia, of course…Floyd's touch almost reminded him of John, except John hadn't been nearly this loving, if he was loving at all.

When Xyloto burst through the back door, he found guards waiting for him, training their guns on him in a circle. "Put your hands in the air!"

"No!" Xyloto shouted defiantly. "Not when I have an important piece of cargo to take to my friends out in D.C.!"

"Drop the bag!"

"No! I have Ziggy Stardust right here, bitches!"

Xyloto fired his paint can up for one last blast and sprayed it all over the shocked guards before they could react. He then ran off, and no one tried to follow him, as they could barely believe what had just happened. Xyloto was laughing the whole way.

Rael and Floyd made a less audacious exit. They managed to run for the hills just as Xyloto had done, and didn't stop running until they were back at the hotel. There, Audrey greeted Floyd with a kiss while Xyloto proudly held up the body bag and Rael rushed away to the upstairs for a quiet lie-down. Floyd told Xyloto, Audrey, and Mylo not to go upstairs and disturb Rael. "He wants to be left alone right now."

"Did you find out what was wrong?" Xyloto asked.

"He killed one of the guards," Floyd explained. "I think he'd rather not talk about it."

They sat down in the lobby, staring at Ziggy's body bag. Finally Floyd unzipped it, and the group crowded around, their faces contorting with horror. Luckily Eva had been put down for a nap, or she would have been mentally scarred at the sight of her old friend.

"Oh God," Audrey finally whispered. "Poor Ziggy."

"I know," Floyd said. "And now the police are going to be after us. They're going to search the entire city, looking for the people who broke into the capital. We have to get out of town as soon as possible and refine our next step in the plan."

"Why can't we leave tonight?" Xyloto asked.

"Rael needs some time alone," Floyd said. "We'll leave when he's ready to."

As per Floyd's instructions, Rael went down to the hotel room he had chosen as his own and turned the cold water on in the sink. He stared at himself in the mirror- his blue eyes framed by swollen, red skin and deep black circles, his scar sticking out like an angry shout on his face, his hair flying in every direction. Rael dipped his head under the faucet and relished in the cool water washing his eyes and dripping into his mouth. He swallowed eagerly, tasting the metal, and then turned the faucet off and went back to his room, dripping.

Once in bed, Rael tried closing his eyes and resting for a bit. But all he could see when he closed his eyes was the face of that poor security guard, his throat torn out, blood spilling into his uniform. Rael opened his eyes with a gasp, and curled into a ball to try and calm down. _We're sorry… we didn't mean to hurt you like that…_

Finally Rael did manage to sleep, but his subconscious weaved a very strange dream that gripped him for what seemed like hours. Rael was lost, floating around in a dark pool of memory. _Is this the real life? _He wondered. _Or is this just fantasy? _The waves of darkness pulled over him so that he couldn't move or breathe. _Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…_

Out of nowhere, a voice commanded him, _Open your eyes, look up at the skies, and see! _It sounded disturbingly like John's voice. Rael did as it told him to do, and saw white light in the sky, scalding his eyes. He covered his face with his hands and cried out. It seemed that his parents were there, looking down on him from the sky above. Rael hadn't seen his parents for five years in the least- sometimes he would think about them when he needed moral guidance, but he hadn't been able to remember their faces for ages. Now their expressions were sad, pitying, as they looked down on him- their son, the killer.

_We're just a poor boy! _Rael cried in his mind. _We need no sympathy, 'cause it's easy come, easy go… _It wasn't hard to just slip away from them, to abandon them just as he had abandoned them so long ago. But he did nothing… _Little high, little low._

_Any way the wind blows, doesn't really matter to us, _Rael concluded, turning his back on his parents and heading into the darkness- only to find that his mother now stood before him. She gazed silently with her large blue eyes, and Rael suddenly felt ashamed, dreadfully ashamed, of what he had done in the capital building that afternoon. His mother looked sorrowful, her arms outstretched, and Rael rushed into them.

_Mama, just killed a man. _The words came out in a rush as Rael held onto his mother, clinging to light as if it was his only hope. _Put a razor against his throat… pulled our handle, now he's dead. _

Rael's mother cradled Rael in her arms as they floated up, up through the blackness, Rael continuing to confess his sins. _Mama, life had just begun. _Rael had finally made a new life for himself outside of New York City, a life where he could be himself and live under his own control. _But now we've gone and thrown it all away!_

_Mama! _Rael cried desperately as they continued to travel upwards. She stared at him sadly, her eyes full of tears of regret for Rael's misdoings. Rael hugged her, trying to comfort her. _Didn't mean to make you cry… If we're not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on, 'cause nothing really matters._

He backed away from his mother, still holding onto her hands, and he felt the darkness begin to tug at him. _Too late, _Rael thought mournfully. _Our time has come. _It ripped Rael away from his mother and dragged him off, her tragic face becoming smaller and smaller until she was only a light in the distance.

_Send shivers down our spine, _Rael thought, growing colder the farther from the light he got. Goosbumps stood up all over his bare skin. _Body's aching all the time…_

It was time for his last words. _Goodbye, everybody! We've got to go! _Rael gave a small wave over his shoulder. _Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth._

Somehow, Rael knew exactly where the darkness was taking him. As they moved beneath the Earth, he cried out again, _Mama! We don't want to die! We sometimes wish we'd never been born at all…_

His mind was in agony as they moved deeper beneath the Earth's crust, down into its flaming hot core. The light of the fire was so bright that Rael shielded his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them he saw a little silhouette of a man. _Scaramouche, Scaramouche!_ It cried. _Will you do the fandango?_

Rael didn't know who the hell Scaramouche was, or what he or she had anything to do with him. The darkness deposited Rael on the burning floor, and stands rose up around him, stands such as one would find in a courtroom, made of pure lava. Rael gasped when he saw who inhabited each side, as thunderbolts and lightning flashed, frightening him for a moment. Each side called and responded to each other- _Galileo! Galileo! Galileo! Galileo! Galileo, Figaro! Magnifico…_

In the stands to Rael's left stood all the figures of the past that he had done wrong to and all of those who had done wrong to him- the countless people he had stolen from to get by in New York City, the owners of all the cars that he had set fire to, the New York City police, the authority figures at the Pontiac reformatory, Marina; Rael's first romantic encounter, Xyloto and his gang, the Lamia, Doktor Dyper, the colony of Slippermen, the drooping lady from the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, John, the Supernatural Anaesthesist, and of course, that _fucking raven. _In the stands to Rael's right stood everyone that Rael had admired and been friends with- his New York gang, Henry; the gang's leader, Floyd, Ziggy, Mylo, Johnny Armstrong, and Will. Rael was disenheartened to find that the left side far outnumbered the right.

The prosecutor came out- a little man in a nice-looking suit, reminiscent of the Supernatural Anaesthesist. Immediately Rael understood, in the way that one occasionally does in dreams, that this was Scaramouche. A ghostly vision of a man's head floated above him, and Rael bit back his shock- it was the face of the man he had killed that afternoon, blood still flowing out of his throat. This must be a trial- and Rael was definitely guilty.

_We're just a poor boy, _he thought in despair. _Nobody loves us._

_He's just a poor boy from a poor family! _The figures on Rael's right called. _Spare him his life from this monstrosity!_

_Easy come, easy go, _Rael anxiously focused his attention on Scaramouche. _Will you let us go?_

_BISMILLAH, NO! _thundered the left side. _WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO!_

_LET HIM GO!, _cried the right side.

_BISMILLAH, WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO!_

_LET HIM GO!_

_BISMILLAH, WE WILL NOT LET YOU GO!_

_LET HIM GO!_

_WILL NOT LET YOU GO!_

_LET HIM GO!_

_WILL NOT LET YOU GO!_

_LET HIM GO!_

_NEVER, NEVER, NEVER LET HIM GO! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!_

_Oh, Mama Mia, Mama Mia, _sang Scaramouche.

_Mama Mia, let us go! _Rael snapped, finally losing his patience with the whole charade. At that, all the eyes in the courtroom- even those of the dead security guard's- turned onto Rael with expressions of loathing and contempt. Scaramouche leapt on him, growing bigger and bigger, transforming into a red, winged devil with sparking brimstone in his eyes. His pointed teeth unlocked, and he let out a fearsome screech, claws outstretched and reaching for Rael.

Terrified, Rael screamed out, _Beelzebub has a devil put aside for us! For us! For uuuuuuusssss!_

And with that, as Satan came to swallow Rael whole, Rael met him in the middle, punching him in the eye. He was through with trying to prove himself. This was the way he was- violent when the time called for it- and he had no reason to try and deny it.

_So you think you can stone us and spit in our eye? _He spat, cracking Satan's spine in the middle. A flurry of faces- people from the left side- came rushing at him, and Rael eagerly jumped to meet them.

_So you think you can love us and leave us to die? Oh, baby!, _he cried, smashing Doktor Dyper's face in and giving Marina a well-deserved kick in the shins. _Can't do this to us, baby! _He sunk his fingernails into the Lamia's defenseless flesh and wrapped his fingers around Xyloto's throat, choking him as he'd always wanted to do. _Just gotta get out… _The raven was his last victim, and Rael plucked all of its feathers out, one by one. _Just gotta get right out of here!_

Thank God- a staircase was in sight! Rael ran for it, ignoring the howls of pain behind him, the baying for his blood. He ran up the stairs and didn't stop until he was out of Hell, free and floating along in clear blue skies and white clouds.

_Nothing really matters, _Rael thought tiredly, dizzily. He traveled through a cloud and soared up, up. _Anyone can see… Nothing really matters to us._

He closed his eyes and retreated into the calm.

_Any way the wind blows…_

The sound of a gong woke Rael up from his slumber. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and pulled the covers around himself thoughtfully. _Well, that was a weird dream._

But what it had said made sense- _nothing really matters. _Rael didn't care anymore that he had accidentally killed someone. As long as he himself was still alive, and as long as Ziggy's body was saved, nothing really mattered. As long as Floyd, Xyloto, and Mylo still liked him, or at least liked him as much as they could, nothing really mattered. And as long as Rael could still defend himself while also engaging in harmless, artistic behavior, nothing really mattered to him.


End file.
